The Sting of a Storme, page 13
Of course, he’d argued, for he’d presented the face of a snarling, stinging storm, but those feelings had quickly flipped to desire, and when he’d kissed her, pulled her into that study, she’d been lost on a sea of foreign sensations she couldn’t wait to explore.
For the first time in her life, she’d been desired by a man—wanted by one—for no other reason than for herself. That had been heady stuff indeed, and she’d willfully given herself to him with the only gift of value she had. No, their coupling hadn’t been remotely romantic or heartfelt, but it had been exciting and scandalous and all-consuming. It had cleared her head and brought a new understanding of the inspector.
He was driven to succeed in all aspects of his life, wanted to stay relevant for reasons only he knew. But he also suffered from anger and anxiety. Impatience simmered with all those things just below his surface, ready to erupt, but why? What had he not made peace with his life? She assumed that after the family drama during the Christmastide house party he might have laid most of those demons to rest.
Perhaps I can help him with that.
Is that truly what she wanted to do? There was a certain danger there in poking the bear, so to speak. To say nothing of the fact she hadn’t chosen him over the viscount. Hot guilt circled through her insides at the truth. She’d lain with William, shared the most special of intimacies with him, yet she hadn’t done the same with Lord Wainwright, nor had she immediately told the viscount she wasn’t interested.
What did that say to her character?
She rather feared it presented her in a horrible light. What must William think of her? What did the viscount? For that matter, what did she think of herself?
Dutifully trudging to an exhibit she had no idea about, Fanny stared at the sculpture—or perhaps it was something dug from the ground?—and frowned. She needed to talk privately with William, not at a society event or at a crime scene, and have a personal, perhaps heart-felt chat to see if he could help her figure out what she should do next. He hadn’t offered an apology following what they’d done together and neither did she want one, but life being what it was, there was the very real chance she could find herself increasing from that act.
What would happen then? Would he offer for her out of obligation? Would she accept that and forever wonder if he’d have regrets in his life? Above all that, she desired to know about the man behind the Bow Street façade, the real man, the one who loved playing the violin. Did he have other hobbies? What was his favorite food? What made him joyful?
And perhaps more importantly, if she ultimately chose him over the viscount, would he and his demons bring heartache and chaos to her life? Could he take care of her financially and offer her stability? If any of those answers were in the negative, she would have no choice but to choose Lord Wainwright, for despite wanting to succeed as a journalist, her father’s mind was rapidly leaving him, and she did need to marry and settle, if only to make him happy.
Oh, why was life so difficult, especially in the aftermath of that wonderful interlude she’d shared with William, when she’d seen a small peek into the man he was as he’d allowed his mask to slip.
“Miss Bancroft?” The touch of Lord Wainwright’s gloved hand to her arm yanked her from the confusing thoughts.
“Hmm?” With a start, she glanced at him, a tad disoriented.
“You’ve been frowning at the statuary for the better part of ten minutes. The remainder of the tour group has moved on to the next piece.” Slight admonition lingered in his voice, and though he spoke in low tones, she couldn’t help but feel the censure. “Are you quite well? Shall I escort you home?”
What the devil was he talking about? She glanced from the still unidentified—to her—sculpture and back to his face. How much, exactly, of the tour had she missed? “Uh, I’m well enough. Thank you. Merely woolgathering. I don’t necessarily wish to return home, but I would like some fresh air.” It would give her the opportunity to be alone with him, and in deference to William and their working partnership—as well as her budding journalistic career—she’d attempt to ask the viscount a few questions without making her interest obvious.
“Very well. Shall we proceed to the front steps then?” He offered her his bent elbow.
“Yes. That’s just the thing.” When she slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, she docilely walked beside him, but his long-legged stride proved too strenuous for her to keep pace with. “Slow down, if you please.”
He barely tamped on a sigh before turning his head and glancing at her. “Perhaps you should have a surgeon look at your ankle. It’s possible they can break it again, they can reset it properly, thereby ridding you of the limp.”
“I can’t imagine that would be pleasant for either the surgeon or me, and there’s no guarantee it would work.” She narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips together for fear she’d say exactly what was on her mind and how much of a cad he was to mention her difficulty. “However, I did have a surgeon examine my ankle at Christmastide. He agreed that the bones didn’t knit back together as seamlessly as they should have all those years ago, but that there was nothing to be done now, especially if I wanted to keep the limited movement I do have.”
“Ah,” was all her companion said as he escorted her out the front door of Montague House where the museum was located.
A few couples milled about the wide sweep of the stone staircase that led to the doors. Fanny moved off to the side so she could feel the winter’s sunshine on her face. Lord Wainwright followed and stood nearby, his spine straight, his top hat tilted at an angle over his left eye that might be considered rakish on a different man.
Now was as good a time as any to begin her interview. “I find it so terribly sad about those dead women, murdered so cruelly.”
The viscount frowned. “What dead women?”
“You know, the ones Inspector Storme referred to the other night at the rout.” Obviously, she didn’t have much skill in questioning a potential suspect. “The ones that are assumed murdered.”
He grunted. “I heard there was another one found that same night,” he said in a non-committal voice, but he didn’t look directly at her.
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” Then some pieces of the puzzle surrounding William slid into place. No wonder he was in a foul mood yesterday. He already knew of the third murder, and that meant Lord Wainwright couldn’t be a suspect any longer, for the viscount had been at the rout with them during that same time. Ah, poor William. “But that makes the story even more tragic, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps.” The viscount shrugged. “But then, London is full of crime. If one only looks for that, it’s all they’ll see.”
Wise words, those, and surprising they came from him. “I understand what you mean.” Fanny drew closer to him a few steps. There was the scent of spring in the air, and she hoped that meant the dreary days of winter were mostly over. “Did you, ah, know any of those women? You’re fairly popular within the ton, and I thought if anyone had gossip about them, it would be you.”
Why not try and catch flies with a little honey?
“What are you attempting to say, Miss Bancroft?” Annoyance threaded through his voice. “I didn’t appreciate the implication from Inspector Storme the other night, and I certainly don’t welcome it from you.”
Oh, dear. She hadn’t quite gotten the hang of tack, apparently. “I merely thought you might have seen those women. That’s all.” Quickly, she dropped her gaze lest he read intent in her eyes. Besides, he enjoyed it more if she was a docile, proper ton lady.
Unlike William, who encouraged her to chase after her dreams and build her self-confidence. The differences in them were startling. And telling.
“I see.” His expression softened and she lifted her gaze to his face. “My apologies. It’s quite a stressful time for us all.” Then he blew out a breath. “I might have danced with them or talked with them in passing at one or two events, but I hardly knew them well.” The look in his eyes turned intense. “The bulk of my focus has been on you, Miss Bancroft.”
Was that true, though? From the accounts of the two young women at the crime scene she’d visited, Lord Wainwright had actively flirted with seemingly everyone, especially if she wasn’t at those same society events. “How lovely of you to say.”
“It’s true.” He scooped up her hand and brought it to his lips. “I would dance with you too, but you’ve evaded me at every turn.”
“How charming you are,” she murmured. Though heat emanated from the brush of his lips upon the fine kid of her glove and eased up her arm, there were no butterflies dancing a ballet in her belly as they did whenever William came near. “I don’t wish to make a spectacle of myself or have you drag me about the dance floor, hindered by my handicap.”
“Yes, I suppose that does make for an inconvenient appearance and not exactly elegant,” he murmured with a frown.
How ill-bred of him to say! She yanked her hand from his. William never referred to her limp and neither did he continue to push her to dance. He’d even done one better and asked her how she’d come by the limp the other night at the rout when she’d lost a piece of her heart to him.
Yes, those differences between the men were rapidly widening the gulf.
Perhaps it was time to change the subject. “Do you know Lord Coxhill?” What did anyone know of the young lord? “He was present at both events when those poor women were killed.”
Shadows flitted over the viscount’s face. “I should think so. He’s a close friend of mine. In fact, I intend to meet with him later this evening at our club.”
“Ah, how wonderful for you.” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming in frustration, for his answers gave nothing away. “Is he a rouge, perhaps a rake?”
“Not more than any other man in the ton on the prowl. It is the Season, after all, and I rather believe he’s in search of a fortune. Something about wanting to repair his country estate.”
“Of course. What man wouldn’t look for the coin above the woman it comes attached with?” she said in a particularly waspish tone. Why couldn’t men want a lady for herself instead of consigning her to a business transaction?
“I must ask you a question, Miss Bancroft.”
“Oh?” Anxiety knotted in her gut. Surely, he wouldn’t declare himself right now. I need more time to figure out my own convoluted thoughts before he adds his!
“What does Inspector Storme mean to you?”
Of everything she assumed the viscount would ask, that wasn’t it. “I beg your pardon?”
“You and he spend time together while attending the same ton social events. I’ve seen the way you watch him, and how he looks at you, so what does he mean to you?” He blew out a breath. “I rather thought that you and I were working toward a definite goal.”
Well, if that didn’t make her examine her own feelings, nothing would, and though she desperately wanted to know how William looked at her, she refrained from asking. “The inspector and I are friends and perhaps colleagues. I accompany him to a few locations for the case he’s working because I’m gathering information for an interview that I’m doing on him. Beyond that, he’s promised to give me and my paper exclusive rights to the case.”
“Are you certain that’s all there is between you?”
She narrowed her eyes even as her cheeks heated. Of course there was more between them. Hadn’t that quick coupling shown that? Her life had been forever changed because of that. “Do you doubt my word?” And how was it that she was eyed askance by playing two men against the other, but the viscount could apparently flirt and dance with other women as much as he pleased? Life was dreadfully unfair at times.
“I’m not sure. You’re different somehow than when I last saw you.” He peered at her with speculation in his eyes. “I’d like to call on you in the next several days.”
“Haven’t you done so many times in the past weeks? Why tell me this?”
“I have a very specific intention this time.” One of his eyebrows rose. “I would ask you a question, and I hope you’ll give me the answer I seek,” he added in a low voice. “I don’t like you in the inspector’s company, you see.”
Her stomach dropped into her toes. Both sensations of hot and cold twisted down her spine as faint panic filled her chest. Ah, and there was the crux of the matter. The viscount, also, wanted her fidelity and he would steal the march on William by asking for her hand, and soon. Yet, Inspector Storme hadn’t given her any hint on what he wanted from his future or if there would be a place for her in it even if he’d claim her body in spectacular fashion…
Oh, what should I do?
“I… that is to say you—” Before she could finish the awkward response, a young man pelted up the museum steps, and upon seeing and recognizing the viscount, he rocked to a stop clutching Lord Wainwright’s arm.
“Lord Wainright! Have you heard the news?” The rather breathless gush of words managed to convey an urgency that even Fanny felt.
“What news?” The viscount frowned. “What is amiss, Mr. Dockery?”
The man flailed a hand in some agitation. “It’s Lord Coxhill. There is something afoot near the Serpentine, and it doesn’t look good.” The newcomer gasped for breath. “I stopped at your townhouse but was told you’d be here, so I came straightaway since you’re his best friend.”
“What?” The viscount’s face blanched. “I’ll go with you immediately.” With a backward glance at Fanny, he said, “Please hire a hack home?” Then he dashed off behind the frightened Mr. Dockery.
“Well, that was rude.” Fanny frowned as they both jumped into a closed carriage. Then the vehicle took off down the street at a fast and dangerous clip. “He is definitely not a gentleman regardless that he has a title.” She glanced up at the sky. Fat gray clouds gathered on the horizon. Rain was in the offing, and soon, and she hadn’t brought an umbrella. “Just my luck.” There was nothing for it except to walk until she reached a hansom cab stand.
“Oi! Miss Bancroft!”
She snapped her head in the direction of the booming hail. A sleek black carriage came to a halt at the curb as she slowly and painstakingly descended the front steps of the museum. William jumped from the vehicle and waved an arm. “Inspector?”
As she approached, he grinned. “Good afternoon, Miss Bancroft.” He lowered his voice. “Francesca.”
Genuine pleasure lit his stormy eyes as he raked his gaze up and down her person, taking in her neat ivory cotton day dress stamped with tiny blue diamonds. The matching pelisse provided adequate protection from the chill, but she shivered anyway, for seeing him again had her traitorous body reacting.
“What are you doing here, Inspector Storme?”
“I was on a drive, and while the carriage was stalled in traffic, I happened to glance over and spy you, standing alone seconds after a certain viscount fled the scene as if the hounds of hell were after him.”
Heat slapped at her cheeks. “There was an emergency he had to attend to.” She waved a hand as if it didn’t matter. Then another thought occurred, one that both incensed her and flattered her. “Were you following me?”
“No.” A red flush rose past his collar. “Of course not.” He even went so far as to tug on the knot of his cravat. Clearly guilty.
“You were.” Fanny grinned. Her silly heart squeezed. “Either you’re jealous of the viscount, you don’t trust me, or… you don’t trust Lord Wainwright.”
“Perhaps.” A growl accompanied the word. “Suffice it to say I’m looking after you. Take no offense in my objective to keep you safe.”
Now that was a proper gentlemanly thing to do even if it was this side of high-handedness. “Maddening man. Now you’ve found me. What do you want?”
Please say me.
“Is Lord Wainwright returning?” He glanced about the immediate area as if the viscount would suddenly pop in from thin air.
“I rather doubt it. He told me to take a hired cab. He received bad news regarding a friend. A Lord Coxhill.”
“Interesting.” But worry and consternation clouded William’s eyes. What did that mean?
“Indeed.” She pressed her lips together.
The inspector cleared his throat. “Would you care to accompany me to a tea café? There’s a nice one near Covent Gardens. It’s private enough that we can talk.”
“About your case?”
“That and other… things.” A wicked gleam appeared in his eyes.
Fanny’s stomach fluttered. Did he wish to secure her undivided attention? “I would like that exceedingly much.” She finally joined him on the curb.
“So would I.” As he handed her into the carriage, the scent of bay, citrus, and spices wafted to her nose, and again, tingles went through her lower belly. Oh, he smelled good! As soon as he gave a direction to his driver, William climbed into the carriage and seated himself on the bench next to her instead of taking the opposite one.
Surely that meant something.
Once the door closed and the carriage lurched into motion, he turned his head and held her gaze. His grin was positively mesmerizing. “Now I have you all to myself until we reach our destination. There is such scope for scandal here, don’t you think?”
Apparently, he wasn’t as uninterested in her as she’d thought, but what should she do about that?
Chapter Eleven
Though William put forth the grin that had earned him more than a few blushes from Francesca since they’d met, inside, he was a seething mass of annoyance and anger. Knowing that Lord Wainwright had abandoned her without recourse incensed him, but the fact she continued to encourage his courtship after what he—William—and she had done the day before pushed him against the edge of becoming enraged.
