Page 3 of Honor Requires

The man rose again. “Questions will not improve your situation.”

“My situation,” Darcy replied, struggling to keep anger from overtaking reason entirely, “is unlawful.”

That earned him the ghost of a reaction. Not amusement precisely. Weariness perhaps.

“Most men here believe themselves innocent.”

“I am not most men.”

The gaoler studied him for an instant longer. Lantern light flickered across the damp corridor walls.

“No,” he said at last. “You are not.”

Then he turned away.

Darcy stepped forward sharply. Pain flared through his ribs hard enough to stop him against the bars.

“Wait.”

The man paused without looking back.

“I require paper. Ink. A letter must be sent to my family.”

“No letters.”

“You cannot prevent correspondence indefinitely.”

“Can I not?” the gaoler answered.

The footsteps receded afterward, lantern glow shrinking gradually into darkness until only the sound of the sea remained once more.

Darcy lowered himself back against the wall.

No letters.

The reality of it settled heavily upon him then, less dramatic than terror and somehow worse for it. Isolation possessed a physical weight here. He could almost feel it pressing inward from the stone itself.

He dragged a hand through his hair and stared toward the slit of grey light high overhead.

How long had he been unconscious after the beating? Hours perhaps. More?

Georgiana would be frightened once his absence became impossible to explain away. Richard would investigate. Bingley too, if word reached him quickly enough.

Elizabeth—

His thoughts halted there.

Memories surfaced unbidden, tormenting him and increasing his longing.

Darcy shut his eyes hard against the recollections.

He had intended to speak upon his return. He loved her.

The admission had arrived gradually over months until one day it no longer resembled discovery at all, only fact. As inevitable as breath. As constant as thought itself.

And now—

Darcy stopped abruptly before the thought carried further.