“And?”
Darcy’s jaw tensed. “He handed me the ledgers and left through the back. I told him not to return home. To go to ground.”
Fitzwilliam glanced away. “Then you should know—yesterday morning, a body was pulled from the Thames. No identification. The coroner marked it vagrant, possibly suicide. But—” He hesitated. “One of your sources, Tibbs, was at the docks. Said the man wore a Treasury seal under his coat. Described him as thin, anxious. Brown coat. Frayed cuffs.”
Darcy was silent.
“I cannot confirm it was Eddleton,” Fitzwilliam said, more gently. “But I am fairly certain it was.”
Darcy pressed a hand to his temple. “He was only trying to help.”
“They always are,” Fitzwilliam murmured.
A brittle silence fell between them.
Then Fitzwilliam asked, “Do you think the Prince will investigate it?”
Darcy’s mouth twisted. “His Highness suggested I was… failing him. Then laughed off the entire affair over a plate of candied almonds.”
Fitzwilliam gave a short, mirthless laugh.
Darcy looked up. “And then he threatened to pull me off the case. Replace me with someone quicker. More obedient.”
Fitzwilliam’s expression darkened. “He would not.”
“He would,” Darcy said flatly. “And he might. If only to be rid of the discomfort. But that would leave her exposed.”
Fitzwilliam swore again. “Well, what came of it?”
Darcy stood and crossed to the window. “I convinced him to give me more time. Barely.”
“You should stay in London,” Fitzwilliam said. “You can push this through from the inside. Leverage my contacts. Use your resources at the Home Office. Turn up enough proof to make a scandal irrelevant.”
“I cannot.”
Fitzwilliam turned in his chair. “Why not?”
Darcy’s gaze did not leave the window. “Her location has been compromised. I left Bingley in my place for the day, but I must return.”
“Bingley,” Fitzwilliam repeated. “You left Bingley in charge of an assassination witness. I would not trust him with a plate of jellied scones.”
“Better him than a regiment,” Darcy muttered. “He smiles too much to be suspicious.”
Fitzwilliam raised both brows. “Well, that answers part of what you never told me. So, she is in Meryton, eh?”
“I have set a trap,” Darcy said. “If someone moves to silence her, I intend to be there to catch them.”
Fitzwilliam nodded slowly. “So the lady is no longer just a witness.”
Darcy turned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Fitzwilliam’s expression was maddeningly neutral. “It means that you have never gone to such lengths for any other informant.”
“She isnotan informant,“ Darcy snapped. “She is an innocent woman—”
Fitzwilliam grinned. “And we are back to the part where you’re pretending not to be smitten.”
Darcy stiffened. “I am not—”
