“He did. But not only that.”
She moved toward him—one step, maybe two—but her eyes never left his. “You mean to say I was bait. For… an entirely different sort of trap.”
Darcy only nodded.
Elizabeth’s expression contorted—outrage warring with humiliation. “He wanted you to prove yourself a man?Thatwas the test?”
A faint, bitter smile ghosted across Darcy’s mouth. “He believes in appetites. Wine, women, sensation. Scandal entertains him. Virtue bores him. And my life has never entertained him.”
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “He was willing to destroymefor that? Just to watch you slip because he thought it would beamusing?”
His gaze flicked up, meeting hers. “Yes. And do not think your father’s standing mattered one whit to him. That probably only made it all the more entertaining as far as he was concerned.”
Elizabeth stared at him. Her mouth opened, then closed. “You knew. From the first night, you knew.”
He nodded. “I did.”
She let out a soft, incredulous breath and turned away, pacing to the far end of the hearth. “So… this was never about the assassination. Not really. It was all about you and trying to get Pemberley back and a spoiled, selfish Prince who thought this was all a good joke.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It was and is about the murder. Maddox still lives. Cunningham still hides. The Prime Minister was gunned down in daylight, and a scapegoat was hanged for it—there is real justice at stake, and there really are men who would very much like it ifyounever spoke another word again. But the Prince… he saw an opportunity to accomplish many things at once. Temptation of every sort to dangle beforeme, andyouentirely without choice in the matter.”
Elizabeth spun back to face him, fury flickering in her voice. “You should have told me! Before it was too late, before I was dragged away from—”
“How?” he scoffed. “Announce it right there when we were standing outside the gates to Buckingham House? You would have stormed the palace and thrown your gloves in his face, and then we would have been hangingtwopeople at Old Bailey.”
“I still might!” she snapped.
His mouth twitched despite himself. But there was no laughter in it. “It was cruel. I know it.”
Her chest rose and fell. “And yet you played along.”
“No!” he said sharply. “No—I refused to.”
Something in her expression shifted. Doubt. Wonder.
“I have obeyed his command,” Darcy continued, “and I have protected you—with my own life, I have protected you. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not one step beyond what duty required. I havenottouched you, and Iwillnot.”
Elizabeth stared at him. Then—softly— “Why not?”
His mouth dropped open. “I…what?”
Her voice broke. “It would have been so easy for you, you know. Seduce me. Trade my honor for yours. One night. One misstep—a bottle of ale, a few promises you have no intention of keeping. That is all it would take, is it not?”
The look she gave him stopped him mid-breath. His chest shot through with quiet, blazing pain. A question and an answer and a wound, all at once. “I am not such a fool that I ever accounted that… oranythingabout you… easy.”
She took a step forward.
Then another.
He did not move.
She crossed the room with no hesitation now, only the quiet certainty of a woman who had made up her mind. He told himself to stop her. He told himself to turn away.
He did neither.
She came to stand before him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin, the faint rise and fall of her breath. Her hands reached up—tentative at first—then firmer, fingers slipping behind his neck. She had to stretch on her toes to reach him, and still he did not move.
So she pulled.
