Elizabeth’s skin prickled.
She had drawn a face from memory. She had added detail. Shadow. Line. Structure. But until this moment, she had not known that a ring—something she had not even consciously registered in the moment—would be the key to unmasking an entire network of corruption. Of danger. And possibly, of murder.
“You said ‘questionable endings.’ Is this… Fellowship… defunct?” she asked carefully, watching the muscle twitch in his jaw.
Darcy gave a short, humorless laugh. “It should be. It was meant to be dissolved a decade ago. But some men do not relinquish power so easily.”
“And you know people connected to it?”
“I cannot say. Not with certainty. But a man from the disbanded regiment that bore this crest—one of its fiercest loyalists—disappeared about three years ago. He was presumed dead. I investigated his ‘murder’ myself.” Darcy’s voice dropped. “But I suspect now that he is very much alive. And if he was at Westminster…” He trailed off.
Elizabeth felt the breath tighten in her chest. “Then he could be the one who pulled the trigger.”
Darcy said nothing. His silence was confirmation enough.
She folded her arms. “Why would he wear the ring? Why leave such a mark?”
“Men like that… they do not fear being seen. They leave symbols behind the way a cat leaves feathers—trophies. Warnings. And sometimes… declarations.”
She swallowed. “Declarations of what?”
“Allegiance. Or ownership.”
Elizabeth blinked. “By whom?”
Darcy raised a brow. “I think, Lady Elizabeth, it might be safer for you if I said nothing more until I can be sure.”
She sighed in disappointment. They stood in silence, the crackle of the hearth filling the space between them. Darcy had been watching her, then it was as if his eyes stung and he had to look away.
It was Elizabeth who spoke first. “I wish you would let me say how sorry I am,” she said softly. “For what happened yesterday.”
Darcy’s brows drew together. “You need not—”
“But I do,” she said firmly. “You were humiliated, and I…” She hesitated, glancing away. “I should not have appeared to find any of it amusing.”
That earned her a look—half disbelief, half something else. “I did not accuse you of that.”
“No?” she asked, the corner of her mouth twitching. “You think I did not notice how your jaw clenched every time he mispronounced ‘libertine’? You think I did not smirk at the way his face was turning purple with ugly yellow splotches?”
A faint flush crept along the edge of his collar. His hand flexed at his side. “I… noticed. You, that is. Not him.”
She tilted her head. “You take every insult like a blow. A man like you can hardly afford—”
“Afford what?”
She sighed. “I have few useful skills—you have said as much yourself. But this, I know, for my father told me often enough. Feelings are costly, Mr. Darcy. Dignity… it is dear. Most cannot afford to defend it, butyou— Well, you looked as if you would have broken Mr. Collins in half if it were not another man’s drawing room he stood in. AndIthoughtIwas the reckless one.”
He looked up sharply. But not in protest. “I do not think you are reckless.”
“You most certainly do! How many times have you had to thunder after me when I was up to some foolhardy mischief?”
Darcy’s throat worked. “I have… tried to understand your perspective. And I think you are brave. Clever. And utterly impossible.” He hesitated. “And I think if I were a better man, I would have stayed away from you.”
She mouthed the words in repetition.Stayed away…
“But I am not,” he said simply. “And I did not.”
She blinked. “Why would you think you had to stay away from me? Am I so terrible?”
