Mr. Bingley motioned Jane back to her seat, then positioned his chair uncomfortably close before reaching for her hand. She drew back instinctively and fiddled with the tiny buttons on her glove to keep him from gaining purchase of her fingers.
“Mr. Bingley, I am uncomfortable with your attention. Please allow more distance between us.” Her voice remained steady despite the rapid flutter of her heart.
His brow furrowed. “Indeed? You once found my nearness agreeable.”
“Precisely – in the past. Eight months ago, to be more accurate. Circumstances have altered for us both, and I find this closeness inappropriate.”
With visible reluctance, he shifted his chair away.
“Why such formality, Miss Bennet? Do you not recall our Hertfordshire days as pleasant?” he asked with a childish pout she once might have found endearing.
“Sir, you have been gone from Meryton since November last. Those you leave behind do not remain stagnant while you live your life in another part of the country.” His eyes widened at her chastisement, but he remained silent. “I must inform you that, while I enjoyed your company last autumn, I am now betrothed to another gentleman.”
“Betrothed!” The word exploded from his lips like a gunshot.
“Yes, and we are on our way to visit family and finalise the wedding arrangements.”
“And yet you find yourself alone with me.” His expression became pensive. Calculating. The charming smile that had once captivated Hertfordshire society transformed into something predatory. “What would the earl say if he knew you had been placed in such a… compromising situation? Alone with a gentleman for whom you secretly yearned?”
“Mr. Bingley!” Jane rose to her full height. “You censured your sister’s rude behaviour, while forgetting to examine your own reflection. I bid you good day.”
As she turned to leave, he caught her from behind with surprising strength, twisting her around with fingers that would surely leave bruises on her arms, and forcibly pressed his mouth against hers, the taste of stale coffee on his tongue revolting her.
“I presume you have no plans of leaving today, sir,” came the deep, measured voice of Jane’s beloved from the doorway, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room, “for I will meet you at dawn, at a place of your choosing.”
Jane wrenched away from Bingley and ran to Joshua, allowing him to wrap one arm around her slender shoulders while she sobbed into his chest.
“I have compromised Miss Bennet, and demand that we marry,” Bingley said, ignoring the challenge which had been laid at his feet.
“You cannot marry a woman who is betrothed to another, compromise or not. Now, choose your weapon of choice and find someone to be your second.”
“I shall not duel you.”
“Then you declare your honour as forfeit.”
“I do not.”
“You cannot have it both ways, Bingley,” Joshua said, ignoring the scoundrel’s look of astonishment that he was known to the gentleman even though they had never met. “Either you are a coward, seeing as you will not meet me on a field of honour after attacking a gentlewoman in a public inn, or a rake in the first order, also because you attacked a gentlewoman in a public inn. Which shall it be? Coward or rake?”
“I took nothing that was not offered!” he blustered out. “Ever since I have known Miss Bennet, she has thrown herself at me. Everyone knew she wanted me to marry her, and today, she all but asked me to kiss her.”
“Is that true, my dearest Miss Manners?” Joshua asked softly, glancing down at his fiancée.
“No, and you know the reasons why,” she replied, returning his gaze of deep love.
It was at that moment that Uncle Edward entered the room.
“Well, Morgan, the horses and carriages are ready to depart; we just need to round up our ladies and be off.”
“We may be delayed by a day,” Joshua said calmly. “I came across this gentleman opportuning Jane, and have called him out. He has yet to decide if he is a coward or a rake.”
Uncle Edward turned a gimlet eye in the direction of Mr. Bingley.
“Is he aware that you hold the fencing title at Cambridge, and the only person to defeat you more than once was Mr. Darcy?” Bingley’s eyes widened at the same time his face turned the colour of chalk. “Or, that you are a crack shot, on par with a military sharpshooter
“We had not gotten that far in our discussion, and I will concede that Darcy has out-fenced me more times than I care to admit.”
Jane stifled a smile at their seemingly innocuous banter, knowing it was sending a chill to the very marrow of Mr. Bingley’s bones. She felt no remorse or sympathy for the man – she refused to call him a gentleman; a point Mr. Morgan was making quite obvious.
