Page 19 of A Matter of Murder

She felt a sudden pressure behind her eyes and realized with alarm that tears were building. She would not let them fall.

Darcy took a step forward, squaring off with her as if about to fight some absurdly close duel. “And who would have protected you?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she didn’t need protecting, but she managed to keep those words in. This was well-trod territory with them. Darcy thought she was reckless, and well... she had been, at times. But she hadn’t gotten where she was—a solicitor, at last—by not taking risks. What was it he’d said to her, the last time she’d forged ahead without him?I just want to be included.

Well, so did she. And having him side with her father against her... she wasn’t sure if she was ready to forgive that.

“Running away won’t solve anything,” she breathed. It wasn’t fair, really, because his words had stirred something in her that she didn’t want to face, and he was standing so close that she could inhale his scent.

“Don’t think of it as running away,” he said softly. “It’s a strategic retreat.”

This was the rather annoying thing about courting a fellow solicitor—Darcy always had a clever rebuttal for her every argument.

“Strategic? More like reactionary. There was nothing well-planned about our flight from London.”

“I beg to differ—your mother told me in great detail all the planning that went into packing the eight trunks that came with us.”

She smiled against her will. But she quickly righted her expression into something more stern. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Joke? Make you laugh?”

He was so close—it would be nothing to close the gap between them, to tilt her chin up and press her lips to his... but no! She couldn’t think about kissing Darcy when she was still so irritated with him.

Except... the fierceness of her anger was starting to feel less like a roaring fire and more like smoldering coals.

As if sensing the warring emotions within her, Darcy said, “I know you don’t like it, but Lizzie—trust that Graves is doing his job. He has dozens of men on the case.”

“That’s just the thing,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure I do trust Graves. He has his own agenda.”

They didn’t know much about him, other than that he worked for the Crown and had been pursuing Lady Catherine for many months. Of course, for a great number of those months he had known that she had escaped and hadn’t deigned to tell Lizzie or Darcy, leaving them in danger of being targeted by her associates.

Darcy sighed. “I can’t say I blame you—I can’t bring myself to fully trust him, either. But he might want to catch her as much as you do. And the Dashwoods are utilizing their resources to try to flush her out.”

“If I—”

“Lizzie.” He took her by the shoulders. Lizzie felt the tension in them melt away at his touch. “There is no shame inletting others investigate if it is too dangerous for you to do so yourself.”

“She’s killed people, Darcy,” Lizzie said. “Who’s to say she won’t kill again, or send someone else to murder another innocent? And what if it’s Marianne this time, or—”

He drew her into an embrace, and she didn’t fight it. “I know,” he said. “But Abigail and Leticia and even Wickham—their deaths weren’t your fault. They were hers. And until we have a more solid lead, Netherfield Park is the safest place for us all.”

Lizzie didn’t want to agree with him, but he presented a very persuasive case. Feelings churned inside her—guilt at leaving home, frustration at being forced to walk away from the case, and under it all, fear.

What would Lady Catherine do if Lizzie failed to meet her yet again?

Darcy released her. “Now, in the meantime—we have a new case.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Oh yes, a case that might predate us entirely, and in which there appears to be no living witness? What a scintillating mystery this will prove to be.”

“Come now, you enjoy a challenge,” Darcy said, and the only thing more annoying than his confidence was the fact that he was right.

“That constable didn’t seem to be interested in the slightest that there is a dead body in his county!”

“About him...” Darcy’s expression darkened for a moment,and Lizzie felt her interest pique. “I wouldn’t trust his disinterest entirely. While you all were examining the coin, I was looking at Mr. Oliver. When Bingley revealed that he thought it was a Spanish mint, Oliver looked... well, alarmed. I think he knows something he’s not letting on.”

Oh, well... she hadn’t been expectingthat. “You’re certain?”

“Absolutely,” Darcy assured her. “He seemed unsettled—and why would a Spanish coin unsettle him more than a body in the drawing room? When he insisted on transporting it to the undertaker, I almost wanted to protest, but I couldn’t think of a single decent reason to stop it.”