Page 93 of Honor Requires

And the fire burned on, steady and unyielding, as the consequences of what lay ahead settled fully upon him.

The rooms at Lady Sotheby’s were already filled to near capacity when Darcy and Lucien arrived, the hum of conversation layered beneath the tuning of instruments and the occasional bright trill of laughter. The musicale had drawn precisely the sort of company Darcy had anticipated—the haute ton assembled in careful elegance, each person as much on display as the performers who would shortly command the room.

Light from dozens of candles shimmered against polished surfaces, catching in the jewels at ladies’ throats and the buttons of gentlemen’s coats. The air was warm, faintly scented with perfume and beeswax, and charged with that peculiar energy that attended any gathering where observation mattered as much as participation.

Darcy paused only briefly at the threshold, his gaze sweeping the room with practiced ease.

Lucien, at his side, murmured, “A veritable assembly of consequence. How fortunate we are.”

Darcy’s mouth curved faintly. “Fortunate indeed.”

They moved forward. It did not take long. Langford stood near the far side of the room, his posture rigid, his expression deliberately controlled. Beside him, Hargrave cut a broader figure—confident, expansive, his manner one of easy familiarity that sat uneasily upon Darcy’s senses.

They saw him almost at once.

“Count Vendicarsi,” Hargrave said, stepping forward with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “What a pleasure.”

Darcy inclined his head with perfect courtesy. “Mr. Hargrave. Mr. Langford.”

Langford bowed. “Sir.”

There was a moment’s exchange of polite phrases, each word carefully weighed.

Hargrave wasted little time. “I trust you are settling comfortably into London?” he asked. “Ashcombe House is quite the acquisition.”

“It serves my purposes,” Darcy replied.

“I should very much like to speak with you at greater length,” Hargrave said, lowering his voice, though not so much as to draw notice. “There are matters of business which may be of mutual benefit.”

Darcy met his gaze evenly. “Indeed?”

Hargrave smiled. “If it suits you, perhaps sometime this week.”

Darcy allowed a brief pause, as though considering.

“Thursday afternoon would be acceptable,” he said at last.

“Excellent.” Hargrave inclined his head. “I shall call upon you then.”

Darcy returned the gesture. “I shall expect you.”

There was nothing more to be gained in the moment. He bowed lightly. “Gentlemen.”

Then he turned away.

As they moved through the room, Darcy spoke under his breath. “Keep an eye on them this evening.”

Lucien did not look at him, though his expression sharpened. “Of course.”

They parted without ceremony, Lucien drifting in a direction that would bring him nearer to their quarry without drawing notice.

Darcy continued on. He saw them almost immediately. The Matlock party occupied a cluster of seats toward the front, their presence commanding acknowledgment from those around them. Lord and Lady Matlock sat with dignified composure, while Bramley stood nearby, engaged in conversation. Lady Bramley turned at his approach, her expression brightening at once.

“Count Vendicarsi,” she said warmly. “How good of you to join us.”

Darcy bowed. “Lady Bramley. Lord Bramley. Lord Matlock. Lady Matlock.”

He spoke the words, but his gaze had already moved beyond them.