“You misunderstand entirely.” Darcy maintained his composure with effort. “I shall supervise your investigation. I will accompany you to any interviews, exploration of estate grounds, and examination of documents. I intend to stand by your side to protect you and ensure that you do not place yourself in unnecessary danger through impulsive actions.” He allowed his gaze to move deliberately over her face.
A gust of wind rustled through the garden, carrying the scent of approaching rain and stirring the dark curls around Elizabeth’s face. Darcy was captured by the way one particularly stubborn tendril brushed against her cheek. He curled his fingers into his palm to suppress an inexplicable urge to tuck it behind her ear.
“And the practical details of this arrangement?” she asked with an impertinent toss of her chin. “Am I to have a guard at my door? A bell around my neck? Perhaps a leash when we walk the grounds?”
“Your penchant for melodrama does you no credit, Miss Bennet.” Despite himself, Darcy felt his lips twitch at her sardonic imagery. “The arrangement is simple. When you wish to interview staff, visit Lambton, or explore the grounds, you will inform me. I will accompany you with Cassie or another suitable chaperone. You will continue your normal activities otherwise—meals, reading, music, whatever occupations you prefer.”
“So I am not to be permitted a moment alone with your sister? Or the Bingleys? Or anyone else who might offer perspectives you cannot control?”
“You may spend time with Georgiana in appropriate settings—the music room, the drawing room, and the library. Public spaces within the house.” Darcy knew he was being overly rigid, but could not bring himself to relent. “As for the Bingleys…”
He hesitated, unwilling to articulate the strange disquiet he feltat the thought of Elizabeth and Charles together. The image of her hand on Bingley’s arm remained uncomfortably vivid.
“Yes?” Elizabeth prompted, one eyebrow arched in challenge. “What restrictions do you place on my interactions with your friend?”
“No restrictions,” Darcy was forced to admit. “But I would caution prudence in encouraging attachments that may prove… complicated by your current circumstances.”
“How thoughtful of you to concern yourself with my attachments. Though I wonder whether your concern stems from my welfare or Mr. Bingley’s.”
“My concern, Miss Bennet, is that your presence at Pemberley places you in a unique and potentially vulnerable position.” Darcy held her gaze steadily. “Until your status is clarified, forming attachments of any kind would be imprudent.”
“How convenient,” Elizabeth observed, “that this arrangement allows you to monitor my every movement while isolating me from potential allies. One might almost suspect design rather than protective instinct.”
Rain began to fall in scattered drops, punctuating the tension between them. Darcy glanced toward the darkening sky, then back to Elizabeth’s challenging expression.
“We should continue this discussion inside,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “The storm is nearly upon us.”
“A fitting metaphor, wouldn’t you say?” Elizabeth’s smile was stiff as she gathered her skirts to protect them from the increasing rainfall. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I accept your terms—for now. Not because I acknowledge your authority over me, but because I require access to Pemberley’s resources to discover the truth.”
“A wise decision,” he said, offering his arm out of habit.
Elizabeth hesitated for a fractional moment before placing her gloved hand on his sleeve. The light pressure of her fingers against his coat sent an absurd ripple of awareness through him, despite the layers of fabric separating skin from skin.
“Do not mistake practicality for submission, Mr. Darcy.” Her voice was low, meant for his ears alone as they walked toward the house. “I will discover what happened to John and Rose Darcy, with or without your approval. Your assistance merely expedites the process.”
“And once you have your answers?” he asked, unable to resist the question that had plagued him since her arrival. “What then, Miss Bennet? Will you claim Pemberley as your birthright? Displace Georgiana from the only home she has known? Take legal action against a family that may well be your own?”
Elizabeth’s step faltered, though her hand remained steady on his arm. Rain began to fall more heavily around them, beading on her borrowed bonnet and darkening the shoulders of his coat.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice stripped of pretense. “I came seeking truth and justice, not conquest. But you must understand—twenty years of my life were stolen by whoever killed my parents. Twenty years I might have spent here, as Elizabeth Rose Darcy, rather than as the second-best daughter of a country gentleman. I cannot simply walk away from that theft.”
Darcy swallowed a lump at the raw honesty in her voice. He had not considered the true scope of her loss. If she were indeed his cousin, her life had been irrevocably altered by violence and deception.
“I will help you find the truth,” he said as they reached the shelter of the portico. “Whatever it may be. But I will also protect what is mine, Miss Bennet. Pemberley, Georgiana, my family’s legacy—these are not prizes to be surrendered without a fight, regardless of legal technicalities.”
“Very well,” she said stoically. “I accept your protection. Though I reserve the right to express my opinions about your methods.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
The admission surprised them both. For a moment, the antagonism between them softened into something more complex, moredangerous. Darcy found himself studying the curve of her mouth, fascinated by the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat.
Her pair of fine eyes flickered between his eyes and his mouth, fluttering uneasily or perhaps coquettishly.
“You play a dangerous game, Miss Bennet,” he said, leaning to whisper in her ear.
“So do you, Mr. Darcy.” She glanced up at him with eyes that held more awareness than was entirely proper. “The question is whether either of us truly understands the rules.”
She turned and ascended the stairs, leaving Darcy to stare at her with an uncomfortable intensity and the suspicion that he had placed himself in far greater danger than Elizabeth had ever faced.
