What now?
She had not thought beyond reaching Darcy. She could return to the Gardiners’ home, but the very idea of sitting in that familiar drawing room, pretending nothing was wrong, made her skin prickle with unease.
Her fingers curled in her lap as the driver turned to look at her expectantly. “Where to, miss?”
She considered writing to her father. What would he advise her to do? She could picture his letter already, full of wry amusement at her predicament, full of affection, bututterly useless in practical matters. If he knew all the details, he would tell her to come home.
Home.
The thought made her ache.
She wanted desperately to go back to Longbourn. To return to the quiet life she had known before all of this—before French spies and cryptic letters and political games. But if she left now, she would be abandoning Darcy before their agreement was fulfilled.
And worse…
She would be leaving her uncle exposed to whatever was happening beneath his very nose. Because shehadto believe he was innocent, or… or, well, her whole life was a sham.
She swallowed. There really was nowhere else for her to go right now. “Back to Gracechurch Street, please.”
The carriage jostled as it moved forward again, stopping and starting through the congested London streets. She could not leave yet. Not until she understood what this was. Elizabeth let out a slow breath, folding her arms across her chest as she watched the city pass beyond the window.
And then—
A sharp noise.
A commotion from outside.
The driver shouted, a startled exclamation lost beneath the abrupt lurch of the carriage as it jerked to a halt. Elizabeth braced herself as the sudden stop sent her forward. The movement outside was chaotic, muffled voices, footsteps scrambling against the cobblestones.
She barely had time to process the confusion before the carriage door flew open, and a man stepped in.
He was unfamiliar—dark-haired, broad-shouldered, dressed in a manner that suggested neither wealth nor complete poverty. His coat was worn but well-fitted, his cravat neat but hastily tied. There was nothing about his appearance that should have alarmed her, save that he was now seated in the carriage she had hired.
Elizabeth recoiled instantly, pressing herself against the far side of the carriage as if distance alone could force him back. Her hand shot out, fumbling for the door handle, but before she could make a move, the man slid onto the seat beside her, shutting the door firmly behind him.
“Get out!” she demanded, her voice sharp with alarm.
The stranger merely lifted a gloved hand, parting his coat just enough to reveal the pistol tucked at his side. “I would not advise raising your voice,” he murmured. “Nor would I recommend drawing attention to yourself.”
Elizabeth’s pulse pounded in her ears. The stately Mayfair houses outside the window blurred as panic surged through her, but she forced herself to breathe, to think. The driver—was he complicit? Or was the lurching she had felt someone on top of the box, threatening him, too?
Could she scream? The pistol, casually draped across the man’s thigh, cautioned her against it. Would anyone even come to her aid if she did?
“What do you want?” she snapped, hoping her voice did not quaver too much.
The man leaned back against the seat, chuckling as he watched her with unnerving calm. “You were unwise to run to the gentleman.”
Darcy stepped out ofhis carriage with purpose, barely waiting for the footman to lower the step before striding up to the Gardiners’ townhouse. The frustration from his conversation with his uncle still burned beneath his skin, but he forced himself to at least appear rational. If nothing else, Elizabeth deserved that much.
The manservant opened the door promptly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy. May I be of service?”
“I have come to call upon Miss Bennet.”
The man inclined his head. “I regret to inform you, sir, that Miss Bennet is not at home.”
Darcy’s brows drew together. “Not at home?”
“No, sir. She left some time ago. A message arrived for her, and shortly after that, she informed Mrs. Gardiner by note that she was visiting the booksellers. Hatchard’s, sir.”
