Gardiner let out a breath. “Then what in Heaven’s name is happening?”
Darcy’s expression darkened. “My uncle has long suspected something nefarious connected to your ships. I only learned of it today. He does not know if you are complicit or a victim—but something is happening under your name.”
Mrs. Gardiner let out a soft gasp, her hand flying to her mouth.
Gardiner’s voice was tight with controlled anger. “Impossible! If someoneisusing my name—if someone is using Elizabeth—then they will answer for it!”
Darcy nodded grimly. “Right now, we must find her.”
Gardiner squared his shoulders. “Where do we begin?”
“I have an idea,” Darcy said. “Go to your warehouse, see what you can turn up. I will meet you there.” And with that, he turned, striding toward the door. He had wasted enough time.
He needed Richard.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The air was damp,thick with the briny scent of the Thames. The darkened alley they led her through was narrow, the towering warehouses on either side looming like silent sentinels. She glimpsed the flicker of torchlight reflecting off the river in the distance. The docks.
They were taking her to the docks. Was she to be hidden in a barrel and sent off to France as some sort of captive?
Wait… no, this was not the docks themselves, but nearby. This was a warehouse. An older one, probably on Thames Street, or perhaps the seedier end of Wapping Street.
A heavy door creaked open, and she was guided inside a cold, dimly lit room. The floor was rough beneath her slippers, and the scent of mildew and old wood filled her nostrils. A single lantern burned on a wooden table, casting flickering shadows against the bare walls.
She was not alone.
Two new men—one tall and broad-shouldered, the other wiry with a shrewd gaze—stood near the table. They had the look of men accustomed to keeping their business quiet, their clothing plain but well-worn. The wiry one tilted his head, scrutinizing her as if she were a puzzle he had not quite solved.
Elizabeth forced herself to stand tall, her hands folded primly in front of her. If they expected terror, they would be disappointed. “I must say, this is hardly the welcome I expected when I left my uncle’s house this afternoon.”
The taller man let out a rough chuckle, shaking his head. “She has spirit, this one.” The accent—he was French. Elizabeth felt herself starting to stare at him, but snapped her eyes back once more, attempting nonchalance. But in that glance, she saw… remembered.
That man had been at the ball.Both balls. An attendant to the French diplomat—the very one who had fumbled the note that she had so foolishly recovered.
Thewiry man stepped closer, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You have something that does not belong to you, mademoiselle.”
Elizabeth blinked, feigning confusion. “Do I?”
The wiry man’s expression did not change. “Do not play games. The key. The letter.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Ah. The mysterious key and letter. Fascinating, really. I would love to know what they are for.”
The taller man scoffed. “Do not waste our time. You know perfectly well what you were meant to do with them.”
She lifted her chin. “I do not.”
The wiry man sighed, as though she were an exasperating child. “Then you are either an exceptional actress or a fool.”
Elizabeth did not flinch. “And if I am neither?”
The men exchanged a glance. The taller one leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “Gardiner’s ships,” he said slowly. “You were given instructions. And yet, you have done nothing. Why?”
Elizabeth arched a brow. “Perhaps because I was givennoinstructions.”
A beat of silence.
Then the wiry man spoke, his voice almost… intrigued. “You expect us to believe that you accepted a key and a letter, and yet you did not know what to do with them?”
