Page 73 of Honor Requires

Lucien was silent, then gave a slight, humorless smile. “Then it seems your gathering will be…interesting.”

Darcy did not return the smile. “It will be useful. Now is the time to establish an acquaintance with certain…gentlemen.”

Lucien regarded him with a look that held both approval and concern. “And if Elizabeth is there?”

The question hung between them, inescapable.

Darcy did not immediately answer. He rose instead, moving a few steps away, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. When he spoke, his voice was even.

“I shall do nothing.”

Lucien frowned. “Nothing?”

“As far as she is concerned,” Darcy agreed, “I am nothing more than a new acquaintance. A stranger newly arrived in London. That is all.”

Lucien rose again, his expression intent. “And you are content with that?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, though his tone did not change. “Contentment does not enter into it.”

“You would stand before her,” Lucien said slowly, “and say nothing of what has passed?”

“I would say nothing that would compromise what must be done,” Darcy replied.

Lucien held his gaze. “And what of her? What she has endured and she believes?”

Darcy’s expression flickered, just briefly, before settling once more into control. “What she believes is that I am dead.”

Lucien’s voice lowered. “And you would allow her to continue in that belief?”

Darcy did not answer at once. The silence stretched, filled with something heavier than either had spoken aloud.

“At present,” he said at last, “it is necessary.”

Lucien studied him with sober intensity. “Necessary,” he repeated. “For whom?”

Darcy met his gaze. “For all of them.”

Lucien exhaled slowly, seemingly weighing whether to press further. At length, he inclined his head, though his expression remained thoughtful.

“Very well,” he said. “I shall not argue the point.”

Darcy gave the slightest indication of acknowledgment and turned back toward the fire. The conversation, for the moment, was at an end.

The image remained.

Elizabeth, standing in the park, her gaze meeting his with that same clear steadiness he had once known so well.

He had told himself it was of no consequence. That she was likely married. That her life had moved forward, as it must, while his had been arrested and remade. Still, he could not dismiss it. Nor, he suspected, would he.

The conversation between Darcy and Lucien had scarcely settled into silence when a discreet knock sounded at the door. It was not the hesitant tap of a servant uncertain of interruption, but the signal of one who knew his timing would be tolerated.

Darcy turned his head. “Come.”

The door opened to admit Mr. Gibbs, whose manner, as ever, was composed and exact. “Mr. Stone has returned, sir, and requests the favor of a word.”

Darcy straightened at once. “Show him in.”

Gibbs inclined his head. “At once, sir.”