“Thisisintolerable.Wemustsend word to my father.”
Darcy did not look up from fastening his coat. The insufferable man.
“No.”
Elizabeth’s brows drew together. “No?”
“The last thing we need is to tell the Marquess of Ashwick where to send an armed retrieval.”
She opened her mouth, indignant, then shut it. “Then the Duchess of Wrexham—only a letter! Enough to tell them—”
“Still no. I thought we settled this last night.”
Her nostrils flared as she turned away, pacing toward the window. “My father will be looking for me,” she insisted. “I was only summoned for an audience with the Queen. I ought to have been home! The palace—surely they sent word?”
“Naturally. You heard His Highness. Her Majesty has already seen to it. You are invited on a ‘pleasure tour’ with some of the Queen’s favorites, and your father will receive ‘letters from you.’”
She turned fully toward him. “And you know this for certain?”
He hesitated. It was only for an instant, but the crack in his veneer shone through. “Yes.”
Elizabeth’s lips parted slightly, as though tasting the words. “And who, do you suppose, will they get to write these letters?”
Darcy stopped to peer out the window again, so he was not facing her when she heard him say, “Her Majesty employs skilled people. They have your handwriting from invitations and acceptances…”
“They cannot.”
He let the curtain fall and turned toward her. “Very well. Think that if you will.”
“No, I…” She shook her head. “Perhaps myhandmight be copied convincingly, but what of my words? Anyone who knows me would knowIwas not the one writing.”
He collected his hat with a quiet, humorless laugh. “Every young lady thinks she is so unique that her friends would discover the same at the slightest whiff of oddity. Do not flatter yourself, Miss Elizabeth. No one knows you as well as you think or cares as much as you believe. And do not sneer at me when I call you that. Far better that I should call you ‘Miss Elizabeth’ than ‘Lizzy’ like some doxy.”
She lifted her chin. “You would notdare.”
“No, what I ‘would not dare’ is to let a lead ball puncture that pretty satin bodice on your gown. I should think His Highness would be rather put out with me. I might even lose my place at the Home Office. So, until further notice, you are my cousin, ‘Miss Elizabeth’—dash it all, I suppose we shall have to invent a surname for you—or you shall be my mistress, ‘Lizzy’ from Rotten Row. Which do you prefer?”
She puckered her mouth into a scornful pout that she hoped would scald whatever conscience this wretched man possessed. “Neither.”
“Just as well. A proper mistress is much friendlier, and as for a respectable maiden…” He squinted one eye at her. “I would be ashamed to confess a relation to someone so haughty.”
Elizabeth bent and threw the chamber pot at him. A pity it was empty.
He caught it easily, but his expression turned from mocking to grave. “Fool,” he growled. “You almost broke the window! Do youwantto be discovered?”
“What Iwantseems to be irrelevant, does it not?“ she snapped.
He sighed and set the empty pot back on the floor. “You will get used to it. We all do.”
Elizabeth crossed her arms. Silence. And glares—he was rather skilled at glaring back at her, much to her dismay. Better than her father, which was unfortunate.
Then, she gave a short, bitter laugh. “They really told my father I was on a royal pleasure tour?”
Darcy remained silent.
She let out a slow breath, turning toward the mirror again. Her cheeks were sallow, her hair only slightly less shocking than it had been.
“How long,” she asked, glancing at his reflection, “do you suppose this pleasant excursion shall last?”
