Page 133 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"The incident was minor. A trifle. My sister's husband occasionally overindulges. It happens in the best families."

"It happens in the worst families." His voice hardened. "Good families eject the drunkard before he progresses to violence."

"Mr Hurst was not violent. He was simply—"

"He grabbed your wrist hard enough to bruise. I can see the marks."

Caroline's hands twitched, instinctively covering her left wrist where the purple shadows of Hurst's fingers still bloomed beneath the grey merino. "You see nothing."

"I see a great deal more than you credit me for, Miss Bingley." He moved by her chair, not threateningly, but as if deliberately advancing to close the distance on a skittish horse. "I also see that you are alone in this house with a drunkard and a pregnantwoman too ill to defend herself. Your brother is useless. Your sister is incapacitated. That leaves you."

"I am perfectly capable of managing my own household."

"I am certain you are. You could probably manage a regiment if given the opportunity. But managing and surviving are different endeavours."

She stood abruptly, the needlework tumbling to the floor in a tangle of silk and vindictiveness. "I did not request your assistance at the opera. I did not request this visit. And I certainly did not request your pity."

"I do not pity you." He held her gaze, his dark eyes steady and infuriatingly calm. "I admire you. Any woman who can sit through Mozart in that shade of orange has remarkable courage."

"I loathe you."

"Good. Loathing is honest. It is the indifference I cannot abide."

They stood facing each other across the carpet, two opposing forces locked in a stalemate.

"Why are you here, Colonel?" Her voice had lost its sharp edge, replaced by a weariness she had not intended to reveal. "Truly. Why did you come?"

"I came," he said slowly, choosing his words with care, "because I made you a promise. At the opera. You said you owed me a debt. I replied that I would collect."

"Ah." The corners of her mouth tightened. "The debt. I wondered when you would mention it. What is the price, Colonel? A shilling? A guinea? Or do you require something more valuable? My humiliation, delivered in instalments?"

"I require your cooperation."

She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your cooperation, Miss Bingley. In a venture of mutual benefit."

He moved to the window, gazing out at the street below where carriages rolled past with their cargo of the comfortable and the condemned. "You have lost your primary target. Darcy has married Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The Viscount has claimed Miss Bennet. The Season is upon us, and you are alone in a house with no sponsor, no connections, and a wardrobe that causes small children to weep."

"How dare you—"

"Who is your next victim, Miss Bingley? Now that Darcy is taken, where do you aim your considerable artillery?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Her hands gripped the back of the nearest chair. "I have not decided."

"You will need all the help you can acquire."

"I do not require help. I require a lack of interference."

"You require strategy. Planning. Intelligence. Someone who knows the battlefield and can guide you through it without triggering every mine." He turned from the window, fixing her with a look that was equal parts calculation and dare. "I am a soldier, Miss Bingley. I am willing to make a sacrifice for the general population."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"If you are removed from circulation, the male population of London will breathe calmly. It is a public service, really. I am quite heroic."

Her mouth fell open. For a full five seconds, she simply stared at him, her brain clearly attempting to process whether he had insulted her, proposed to her, or suffered an apoplexy.

"You are volunteering," she said slowly, enunciating each word as if speaking to the village idiot, "to help me find a husband?"