Page 60 of Honor Requires

Darcy did not seek the most prominent runner. He sought the most capable. Over the last week, he had sought information on the runners, pursuing an appropriate candidate. The man he chose did not immediately inspire confidence.

He was unremarkable in appearance, his clothing plain, his manner unassuming. In a crowd, no one would look twice at him. There was a sharpness in his eyes, an attentiveness that suggested a mind accustomed to observation.

“I wish to know everything about a certain gentleman and his business dealings.”

“You require discretion,” the man said after Darcy had outlined his needs in discreet terms. He did not give any more information than what was needed.

“I do,” Darcy replied. “It is imperative, and your salary is contingent upon it.”

He nodded. “And truth, I suppose.”

“Above all.”

The runner, Tobias Stone, considered him. “That has a cost.”

Darcy named a sum. “As you can see, I am willing to pay more than what this task is worth. All I demand in return is complete loyalty and results. You will have a place on my staff, in my household, and be only in my employ.”

The man’s brow lifted. “Indeed.”

“You will be paid more upon satisfactory completion,” Darcy added. “I do not know how long this particular investigation will take.”

A pause.

Then, “Very well.”

Darcy inclined his head. “You will begin with a man named Hargrave.” Carefully, he described the information he sought. Who was Hargrave? What were his weaknesses, his darkest secrets? With whom was he involved? What had happened to his estate?

Mr. Stone nodded once. “I know the name.”

Darcy’s gaze did not waver. “Then you know where to begin.”

“Indeed. I shall be in touch, Count Vendicarsi.”

That night, as the city settled into its restlessness, Darcy stood once more at the window.

The path before him had begun to take shape.

He had a new name, one that came with an elevated position. He had resources in abundance and an investigator.

And now—information would follow.

Behind him, Lucien watched in silence. “Do not lose yourself,” he said at length.

Darcy did not turn. “I have not lost myself,” he replied. But his hand, resting lightly against the glass, tightened ever so slightly. Though his voice remained steady, there was something within it now that had not been there before.

A colder and more resolute purpose had taken hold. The Count of Vendicarsi had come to London. And he did not intend to leave without answers.

The afternoon was gray and cool when Darcy’s carriage turned at last into the street newly made his own. The horses moved at a slow pace, their harness polished to brilliance, while the conveyance itself rolled forward with such smoothness that the motion scarcely jarred at all. It had been recently purchased, chosen not only for elegance but for comfort and solidity, and Darcy could not deny that he appreciated the excellent springs each time the wheels passed over uneven stones without violence.

Beside him, Lucien sat with his usual appearance of easy interest, though Darcy knew him well enough by now to detect the alertness beneath it. Nothing in London, not even their arrival at Ashcombe House, was met by Lucien with true carelessness. He observed everything, filed it away, and spoke of only half of what he noticed.

“It is a handsome street,” Lucien remarked, glancing out the window as the carriage slowed. “Respectable, but not ostentatious. You have chosen well.”

Darcy inclined his head. “It is well situated.”

That was true in more ways than one. The house, once plain and somewhat neglected, had been transformed in the weeks since its leasehold. The renovations had been extensive, but discreet, carried out with a precision Darcy had supervised closely. He had no wish for vulgar display. A man newly come from the Continent, bearing a title and fortune, must live well enough to justify both, but extravagance invited scrutiny where elegance inspired admiration.

The carriage came to a stop before the house.