Damien looked towards the closed door before lowering his voice.
"At the wedding breakfast," Damien said, as he recalled the moment, "Augustus approached me."
Benedict's brows lifted. "And?"
"He noticed the scarf Seraphine wore," Damien replied, folding one hand behind his back as though that might keep the memory in order.
Benedict frowned, his fingers drumming once against the arm of his chair. "What of it?"
"He recognized the silk," Damien said, his voice dropping a fraction.
Realization slowly dawned across Benedict's features. He leaned forward, the humor draining from his expression. "Silk from France?"
Damien gave one curt nod, his mouth flattening.
Benedict sat back in his chair and let out a slow breath. "How did Seraphine come by such a thing?" he asked carefully, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "Was it some family heirloom?"
"No," Damien said at once, his gaze hardening. His voice remained level. "I gave it to her." Silence settled heavily between them. "It arrived on my most recent shipment."
Benedict slowly rubbed both hands over his face before exhaling through his nose. "Oh." He looked at Damien for several moments. "Oh, I see."
Damien moved around the table until he stood beside Benedict's chair. Leaning down slightly, he spoke quietly enough that even the walls themselves seemed unlikely to overhear.
"I do not expect you to become entangled in my trade."
Benedict remained silent.
"It is my crime," Damien continued evenly. "Mine alone. What passes through the Channel passes because I command it. The Crown would show no mercy if the operation were discovered." He straightened. "I know I have your confidence, Benedict," Damien said quietly, his voice low and controlled.
His green eyes hardened as he held Benedict's gaze. "But I will not have you punished for my choices."
Benedict regarded him steadily for a long moment, then gave a slow nod, his expression sobering. "Your secret dies with me," he said at last.
Damien inclined his head once, the smallest acknowledgement. "I know."
Another silence passed.
Finally Benedict clasped his hands together. "So," he said briskly, "what precisely do you require of me?"
"I need Pemberley found. He made a threat regarding Seraphine. You see she was the reason I punched him and his pride has been hurt. So now I believe he is going to go after her and blackmail me." Damien's answer came without hesitation. "I need to know where he goes, whom he speaks with and whether he intends to act upon his threats."
"And?" Benedict asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"And nothing more," Damien said, his tone clipped as he folded his arms.
Benedict studied his oldest friend for a long moment. "You intend to deal with him yourself."
Damien neither confirmed nor denied it. His silence proved answer enough.
Benedict sighed. "I know precisely the man."
Damien looked up.
"My solicitor occasionally employs an investigator named Gantry," Benedict said tapping one finger against the armrest. "The fellow is remarkably discreet," he added, glancing at Damien with a knowing look. "He uncovers secrets other men fail even to notice," Benedict finished, folding his hands neatly over his waistcoat. "And," he added with a crooked grin, "he believes confidentiality is considerably more profitable than honesty."
Damien considered the information. "Can he be trusted?" He fixed his gaze on his friend’s face.
Benedict gave a small, knowing shrug, one hand idly smoothing the front of his waistcoat. "With sufficient payment? That buys you his trust." A slow smile touched his mouth as he leaned back in his chair. "To the grave."
