Page 142 of A Debt Inherited

“When George Wickham lies,” Fitzwilliam said, “does he still look pleased with himself?”

Roark’s scarred mouth shifted. “Always. It is how one knows him awake.”

“He was awake this morning.”

“A pity for all concerned.”

“He carried a ransom demand to Hertfordshire.”

The amusement left Roark’s face by degrees. Not shock. Calculation.

“For whom?”

“A gentleman’s daughter.”

Roark’s fingers tightened once. “Then Wickham has grown stupider than debt ever made him.”

“You disapprove?”

“Of bad trade, I do.” Roark’s good eye hardened. “A gentleman’s daughter brings magistrates, the militia, and grieving fathers.”

His scarred lip lifted at one end. “And trouble like you.”

Fitzwilliam let the provocation pass. “It has.”

Roark nodded. “What is her name?”

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Nothing moved in Roark’s face. That told Fitzwilliam more than a denial.

“You do not know the name.”

“No.”

“Thomas Bennet of Longbourn.”

“No.”

“You are certain.”

Roark’s good eye hardened. “Colonel, I remember every man who owes me money, every man likely to owe me money, and every man foolish enough to stand between the two. Bennet is none of them.”

“Is Kerr?”

Roark’s fingers remained interlaced. “Kerr is not a debtor.”

“Then what is he?”

“A failed investment.”

Fitzwilliam held his gaze. “Explain.”

Roark looked past him once, towards Harris and Simms. “You brought men who know their use. That is rare.”

“Kerr had a use.”

“Several.” Roark’s good eye returned to Fitzwilliam. “He could read, reckon, wait, and enter rooms where a common collector would be turned out by the collar. Clerks answered him. Shopkeepers admired him. Gentlemen mistook him for one of their own until he opened his hand.”