And somehow, infuriatingly, he could not condemn that.
“Whatever your intentionswere, you are now compromised,“ he said at last, his voice low.
Elizabeth swallowed so hard he could hear her throat working across the room. “I know.”
“And do you understand what that means?”
She held his gaze. “That they know where I am. And who is sheltering me. And if they have half a wit, they have probably put together the name of the man protecting me.”
Darcy unleashed a sigh. So, shehadspared the matter some thought. Some remorse. “Yes.”
She exhaled slowly, nodding, her face carefully blank. But there was something in her eyes—a flicker of something she had probably never let herself feel before.
Fear.
Not the petty fear of inconvenience or discomfort.
Real, honest terror.
She understood now.
Darcy’s jaw clenched. “I must stay.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I was meant to return to London. But I cannot leave now. Not when we know someone is watching you.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “You would abandon your work?”
His fingers twitched at his sides. “If my work follows you here, then my duty is here.”
Elizabeth swallowed. Her throat moved slowly, deliberately. “What do we do?”
Darcy straightened. “We must be vigilant. Trust no one outside this household—save, perhaps, Bingley at point of need. Any further correspondence must be scrutinized.”
She nodded jerkily. “I understand.”
Darcy’s mind moved faster now, pulling threads and sorting them into patterns. He paced once more, two strides to the hearth and back again, the beginnings of a plan taking form even as his pulse still thrummed with unease.
Elizabeth was being watched. That much was now certain. And they apparentlywantedher scattered, terrified, thinking about running again…
Then… why not use it?
He turned to her abruptly. “If they are watching your movements—if they intercepted your letter—then they are intercepting from somewhere close.”
She frowned, following his logic, but wary. “You wish to draw them out.”
“I want to know where your letter was taken. Who had the opportunity. Which hand betrayed you.”
“And you think you can track that?”
He nodded once, sharp and certain. “It will take planning. I shall have to coordinate with Fitzwilliam, and perhaps involve a man or two from the Post. Quietly.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, her expression guarded. “You want me to write another?”
“Yes. Nothing too pointed. Another note to Lady Charlotte—or even another friend. One who would expect to hear from you. Something innocuous. And this time, I will control its path. I will mark it, perhaps plant false information in it—details only a spy or traitor would note. And then I shall see where it ends.”
A silence fell between them, full of possibility and risk.
