The Sting of a Storme, page 24
A wave of relief slammed into him. “Thank you. I’ll keep you informed on all fronts.”
“You solved the cases, Storme. Take as much time as you need to recuperate. I’ll call in a day or so.”
“I will, sir.” William settled himself in the carriage and then assisted when the chief inspector settled Francesca onto the bench next to him. He cradled her head in his lap. “Thank you.”
Pryce nodded. “I’ll finish up here. No doubt this will be gossip for a week once it breaks.”
William shrugged. “Let everyone talk. It matters not to me.” Francesca was alive and she loved him. What more did a man need?
Chapter Twenty
March 5, 1819
William groaned as he shifted his leg on the pillow that propped it up on the low sofa. Four days ago, after he’d seen Francesca home and looked after by a surgeon—he’d encouraged her parents to call upon Doctor Marsden, who was the brother of his cousin-in-law, Lady Jane—the man had called upon him.
Which was how William had come by five stitches in his thigh as well as two in his calf. Doctor Marden had also recommended rest—at least a week—but William wanted to pay a call on Francesca. Already, he wished to climb the walls, for he’d hoped to have secured her hand. Instead, he’d been stuck either in his bed or on this sofa.
“Do you need anything?” his mother asked from her spot on the matching sofa. A low table rested between them in the drawing room with the detritus of a tea service decorating the surface. “A refresh to your cup?”
“I’m fine. Just uncomfortable from forced inactivity.” He’d been away from Whitehall for four days, resting as he’d promised Chief Inspector Pryce. “Or you can keep my secret if I slip out to go across Mayfair to call on Miss Bancroft.”
“Your young lady will wait,” his mother said with a smile. “Besides, I spoke with her mother yesterday. She’s still recovering from her ordeal and has been advised not to talk for a few days more as her vocal cords heal.”
“That’s all well and good, but I—”
“A rest is good for you,” Andrew said as he swept into the room with a folded newspaper beneath his arm. “You’ll need to gather your strength for all the notoriety you’ll face upon your return.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned at his cousin. “Do neither of you understand I haven’t been with Miss Bancroft since that horrible night? I want to see for myself she’s well.”
“I can tell you what she’s been doing.” Andrew held up the paper. “She might not be able to speak, but she doesn’t need her voice to convey her point.”
“Damnation, Cousin, out with it.” William resettled himself against the mound of pillows he had propped behind his back.
“Here.” Andrew shoved the paper into his hand. “Read for yourself.”
Slowly, while his cousin and mother looked on, William grabbed his spectacles from a small, rose-inlaid table at his elbow and settled them on his nose. Then he unfolded the copy of the General Evening Post. An article on the front page caught his attention but not as much as the by-line that read: F. Bancroft, contributing reporter.
“Dear God, she’s no longer in the society page,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“Oh, no. Miss Bancroft has managed to break the story of the year for her editor.” Andrew flashed a grin. He sat in a chair near William’s chair. “Read it.”
The headline sent heat up the back of his neck. “‘Bow Street’s Storme Hailed Hero’”
“How wonderful!” his mother said. She perked up for the first time in days. “Please read the article aloud for me.”
With nothing else to do, William began to read. “‘For the past two weeks, I’ve had the special honor of accompanying Inspector Storme as he investigated a series of horrific murders that have plagued London. Over the course of working those cases, I came to see the man behind the title. Not only did he care about solving the murders, but he also truly showed compassion regarding the victims of the crimes. He once told me that it was highly unlikely a serial killer could be a woman, but I maintain that when a woman’s emotions and affections have been constantly toyed with and when promises are couched in shallow flirting, a woman can conjure deep-seated rage that would allow them to kill.’”
He shot a glance to his cousin. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine she was,” Andrew said with a grin. “The women we attract into our lives seldom are, and they make certain we know that.”
William chuckled and then continued reading. “‘Such is what happened in this case, or rather cases. I am not making excuses for what the unfortunate Miss Newton did. She acted with vile intent, willfully engaged in murder, and shattered a handful of lives because of it. My own life was in jeopardy by the end, but if it hadn’t been for the heroic actions of Inspector Storme, fighting the madwoman even while stabbed, I wouldn’t be here to write this article.’”
A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He quickly cleared it, but the hand holding the newspaper shook. “She took absolutely no credit in that capture, when it had been her notes and insights that had led to the identification of the killer.”
Andrew shrugged. “Modesty is a good quality to have, and to find it in a reporter is even more rare.”
“Yes, well.” He once more cleared his throat, and for a few seconds, the words on the paper blurred due to moisture in his eyes. “‘Thanks to his attention to detail and his unrelenting determination, the threat has been neutralized, and London can once more rest safe… until the next time.
“‘Below is an interview I conducted with Inspector Storme that will give you some insight into the daily operations of a Bow Street Runner, but don’t try and call them that, for they prefer the term Principal Officers.’”
He declined to read the interview aloud, but he passed the newspaper to his mother so she could peruse it. Then he met Andrew’s gaze. “What? I can see the amusement in your eyes.”
“And I can see the embarrassment in yours. You don’t like praise.”
“I do not. I was merely doing what was asked of me in my position.”
“With the assistance of the reporter. You’re near bursting with pride for her.”
“Of course. She handled herself well, and because of that, we solved the cases. Together.” But it was so much more than that.
“Ah, I see.” His cousin grinned so wide William wanted to smack it off his face. “Miss Bancroft is quite something.”
“That she is.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Have you something to say about that?”
“Only this.” Andrew rested an ankle on a knee. “Don’t you feel she would make a fine addition to the Storme family?”
Another flush of heat crept up the back of William’s neck. “I do, of course, but…” But what? Why the delay, outside of letting her heal? It was rather terrifying to offer up his heart even though she’d already said she loved him. She’d had four days to think about everything after that horrible night. What if she’d decided a life of intrigue wasn’t for her? “I can’t help but think after those events, she might not wish to potentially be thrust into another such scenario.”
“Well then, ask the girl to marry you and see if she’s willing to follow you into danger occasionally. Seems to me she held her own. Plus, she didn’t order you away after you rescued her nor fall into hysterics. That’s something.” Amusement danced in his stormy eyes. “Go live your life and enjoy the happiness that’s coming your way. Perhaps you’ll have children you can mold into the next generation of detectives. I rather doubt London’s crime problem will improve.”
“True.” Imagine, fat little cherub babies. Imagine a wife! A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. “What if I fail at being a decent husband?”
“Then I’ll personally take you to task, but I do understand your concerns. I harbored them too before I married and during those early months. You learn, constantly make choices that have you growing. It helps with the right woman by your side.” Andrew glanced about the remains of tea then at William’s mother. “Dearest auntie, my mother wishes for you to come to dinner tomorrow evening. Do you mind if I ring for a refresh? I’m rather in the mood for some gossip, and Sarah would appreciate hearing all the scandal when I return home.”
“How delightful!” His mother smiled. “I should adore that.”
“I’ll summon the butler.” William sighed as his cousin stood and crossed the room toward the bell pull. Apparently, he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts any time soon, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to be in Francesca’s company.
*
March 20, 1819
Fanny frowned at her mother as she fussed and fluttered about the dressing room. “What is so important about this afternoon that you’re concerned about my attire?” She’d been alternately grouchy and grateful for the past two weeks, for she’d survived an ordeal that many women wouldn’t have. Yet, William hadn’t deigned to pay her a visit during her recuperation period.
Had he changed his mind about her? Even after the article that she’d wrote ran in her newspaper in a prominent spot on the front page?
“Hush, you, and stop being such a sourpuss.” Her mother directed the maid to twist and curl Fanny’s hair into an intricate updo that was more suitable for a ballroom than another day of lounging about the house. “Inspector Storme came by a few days ago to talk to your father.”
“Oh?” The hairpins she’s been holding for the maid tumbled from her suddenly lax hand. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “What, ah, was the outcome of that talk?”
“Can you not guess?” Her mother lifted a gown of deep purple from the bed and held it up for Fanny’s inspection. “The inspector wants to marry you.”
“And Papa said?”
“He gave his permission and they worked out a contract.”
“So, his mind was clear enough to make an arrangement?”
“Yes. And he had his man-of-affairs in as well. But your father was cognizant and a bit relieved that you’ll be settled.”
Once her hair was finished and the two mother of pearl combs secured in the tresses, Fanny rose from her vanity in somewhat of a daze. She let her mother assist her on with the gown, and as the cool folds of the taffeta settled over her skin, she sighed, and then was forced to hold her breath as a hiccup made its presence known. As soon as the reaction passed, she looked at her mother. “Are you and Papa happy with the match? You wanted a title for me, but I—”
“We’re happy that you’re happy. After what happened when we almost lost you…” Her voice caught and tears sprang to her eyes. “Your father and I realized we should have let you choose from the outset.” Gently, she turned Fanny about so their gazes connected. “I only ask that you don’t linger on a long engagement, for your father’s sake. He’s rather anxious to have you wed while he can remember you.”
“Of course.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. Life was ever-changing. “I’m sure William won’t take issue with that.”
“And while we’ve not made peace with the fact your position at the newspaper isn’t benign or consigned to safe stories of ton society any longer, we realize this is the life you’ve chosen for yourself. Just be careful.”
“I will, and if the inspector is with me, I have no cause to worry.” But she did, for had he changed his mind on that? She smoothed her hands along the front of the gown, turning this way and that while peering into the nearby cheval glass. “How do I look?” Though her wounds were healing nicely, the few stitches she’d received for that cut on her abdomen had thrown off her self-confidence. Would there be much scarring?
“Like a woman on the verge of becoming engaged.” Her mother gave her a swift hug. “Inspector Storme should arrive at any moment. We’ll give you the privacy of the drawing room.”
Butterfly wings brushed at her stomach. It wasn’t every day a woman found herself engaged. Well, at least for her.
A discreet knock on the door made the rest of her thoughts fly out of her head. Both Fanny and her mother glanced at the butler.
“Inspector Storme is here to see Miss Bancroft. I’ve shown him into the drawing room as requested.” He looked at Fanny. “Do you require tea?”
Her nerves fluttered so badly she didn’t think she’d be able to keep down a cup of tea. “No, thank you. The day is fine, so I’ll probably encourage him to take me driving after… Well, afterward.” At least that would afford them true privacy, for no doubt her parents would wish to hover and ply William with questions.
“Very good, Miss Bancroft.” Then the butler departed, and Fanny pressed a hand to her warm cheek.
“I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” The only thing she wanted to do was throw herself into William’s arms and reassure herself that he had suffered no ill effects.
“Fingers crossed, dear.” With one last hug, her mother let her go.
The closer Fanny came to the drawing room, the more riotous her heartbeat grew, and when her gaze fell upon William as he contemplated the Mayfair streets out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, need shivered down her spine.
“Good afternoon, William.” She didn’t bother closing the door, for there was no point. Her parents would lurk, for they were probably as excited as she.
He swung about. So many emotions flitted over his face, she couldn’t settle on just one. “It’s so good to see you again, Francesca.”
Oh, that deep rumble of his voice set off an avalanche of tingles within her chest. “You look well. I assume you’re healing nicely?” The fact they were reduced to inconsequential niceties sent anxiety into her belly.
“Yes. All is well.”
Fanny came further into the room. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked in a soft voice. “I’ve missed you.”
His expression crumpled into concern. “I wanted to allow you time to heal, to acclimate to what happened, and I was confined to bed for a few days anyway with my own injuries.” For the first time since she’d known him, a hint of vulnerability shadowed his eyes. “I fear the separation might have made you change your mind about me.”
“Never.” Then, because she couldn’t stand it any longer, she closed the distance between them and threw herself into his waiting arms, and they were just as eager as he held her close. “I thought you had changed your mind and that was what kept you away.”
“Once I make up my mind about something, it rarely changes.” The scents of bay, citrus, and spices washed over her like a cleansing flood. “I apologize profusely if my staying away caused you distress. That wasn’t my intention. There was much to put into motion.” He set her at arm’s length, but kept hold of her hands, and the intensity of his gaze sent tiny fires licking through her blood. “Thank you for writing that article. I’m so proud of you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes from his praise as well as the admiration evident on his face. “I only reported the facts.”
“No, you completely left out the part where you played a huge role in unmasking the killer or even providing the distraction that led to me taking her down.” William squeezed her fingers. “We make a good team.”
“I think so too.” The warmth of his fingers—had he taken his gloves off prior to her arrival?—on hers only added fuel to the wanton desire stacking like kindling inside her. “Did you mean what you said that night?”
“Refresh my memory, sweeting. I’ve applied myself to many tasks since then.” But he winked, and she knew he remembered.
“That you wished for me to remain as your partner for upcoming cases.” When she tried to pull her hands away, he tightened his hold. “My editor thinks it’s a good idea—within reason—especially after the article ran and increased their subscriptions. After all, the General Evening Post had the only exclusive on the female serial killer.” And what a sensation she’d caused in that newspaper office when she’d turned in her article! Never would she forget it or the grudging respect she’d been given by her editor as well as her male counterparts.
“For good reason. You’ve a knack for journalism.” Then concern lined his face, furrowed his brow. “I’ll concede to the plan on two conditions.”
“Which are?” Why was adult life always a series of conditions, rules, and compromises?
“First, that you go into this partnership with your eyes wide open. There might be danger involved; there might not. Some of my cases are incredibly tedious, but some are horrific and gruesome with no answers. And some require hunting down criminal elements that won’t hesitate to harm you in order to get to me.” His voice broke slightly, but he cleared his throat and continued. “I couldn’t bear to see you injured, or worse, on my behalf.”
“It’s a partnership, William. That means we’re equals in everything. I’m more than capable of defending myself, or you, on occasion.” She arched an eyebrow. “Besides, I’m a real journalist now. What makes you assume you’ll always be the target of ire-laden criminals?”
“Touché.” The corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a grin, and all she wanted to do was kiss him until he did.
“And the other condition?” Drat it all if her voice hadn’t suddenly taken on a breathless quality.
“Just this.” Still holding her hands, William sank to one knee with a slight grimace. No doubt his stab wounds were still a touch painful. “I’m offering you this partnership if you’ll consent to becoming my wife.” His stormy gray eyes never left her face, and the longer she looked, the more love shone up from the dark depths. “I’m not the wordsmith that you are, so I’ll keep it brief. I love you. I can’t go another day forward in my life without securing your promise that you’ll come with me as my bride. I want your partnership—your love—in all the ways that matter between two people.”
He loves me!
Those tiny little words sent happiness pinwheeling through her stomach. Never had anything sounded as sweet. “Oh, William.” Fanny’s hands trembled, and once more tears filled her eyes. Never had she thought a proposal more romantic or more… him. “I love you too, so of course I’ll marry you.” Then, to her mortification, a loud hiccup escaped her throat.
“You solved the cases, Storme. Take as much time as you need to recuperate. I’ll call in a day or so.”
“I will, sir.” William settled himself in the carriage and then assisted when the chief inspector settled Francesca onto the bench next to him. He cradled her head in his lap. “Thank you.”
Pryce nodded. “I’ll finish up here. No doubt this will be gossip for a week once it breaks.”
William shrugged. “Let everyone talk. It matters not to me.” Francesca was alive and she loved him. What more did a man need?
Chapter Twenty
March 5, 1819
William groaned as he shifted his leg on the pillow that propped it up on the low sofa. Four days ago, after he’d seen Francesca home and looked after by a surgeon—he’d encouraged her parents to call upon Doctor Marsden, who was the brother of his cousin-in-law, Lady Jane—the man had called upon him.
Which was how William had come by five stitches in his thigh as well as two in his calf. Doctor Marden had also recommended rest—at least a week—but William wanted to pay a call on Francesca. Already, he wished to climb the walls, for he’d hoped to have secured her hand. Instead, he’d been stuck either in his bed or on this sofa.
“Do you need anything?” his mother asked from her spot on the matching sofa. A low table rested between them in the drawing room with the detritus of a tea service decorating the surface. “A refresh to your cup?”
“I’m fine. Just uncomfortable from forced inactivity.” He’d been away from Whitehall for four days, resting as he’d promised Chief Inspector Pryce. “Or you can keep my secret if I slip out to go across Mayfair to call on Miss Bancroft.”
“Your young lady will wait,” his mother said with a smile. “Besides, I spoke with her mother yesterday. She’s still recovering from her ordeal and has been advised not to talk for a few days more as her vocal cords heal.”
“That’s all well and good, but I—”
“A rest is good for you,” Andrew said as he swept into the room with a folded newspaper beneath his arm. “You’ll need to gather your strength for all the notoriety you’ll face upon your return.”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned at his cousin. “Do neither of you understand I haven’t been with Miss Bancroft since that horrible night? I want to see for myself she’s well.”
“I can tell you what she’s been doing.” Andrew held up the paper. “She might not be able to speak, but she doesn’t need her voice to convey her point.”
“Damnation, Cousin, out with it.” William resettled himself against the mound of pillows he had propped behind his back.
“Here.” Andrew shoved the paper into his hand. “Read for yourself.”
Slowly, while his cousin and mother looked on, William grabbed his spectacles from a small, rose-inlaid table at his elbow and settled them on his nose. Then he unfolded the copy of the General Evening Post. An article on the front page caught his attention but not as much as the by-line that read: F. Bancroft, contributing reporter.
“Dear God, she’s no longer in the society page,” he said in a hushed whisper.
“Oh, no. Miss Bancroft has managed to break the story of the year for her editor.” Andrew flashed a grin. He sat in a chair near William’s chair. “Read it.”
The headline sent heat up the back of his neck. “‘Bow Street’s Storme Hailed Hero’”
“How wonderful!” his mother said. She perked up for the first time in days. “Please read the article aloud for me.”
With nothing else to do, William began to read. “‘For the past two weeks, I’ve had the special honor of accompanying Inspector Storme as he investigated a series of horrific murders that have plagued London. Over the course of working those cases, I came to see the man behind the title. Not only did he care about solving the murders, but he also truly showed compassion regarding the victims of the crimes. He once told me that it was highly unlikely a serial killer could be a woman, but I maintain that when a woman’s emotions and affections have been constantly toyed with and when promises are couched in shallow flirting, a woman can conjure deep-seated rage that would allow them to kill.’”
He shot a glance to his cousin. “She wasn’t wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t imagine she was,” Andrew said with a grin. “The women we attract into our lives seldom are, and they make certain we know that.”
William chuckled and then continued reading. “‘Such is what happened in this case, or rather cases. I am not making excuses for what the unfortunate Miss Newton did. She acted with vile intent, willfully engaged in murder, and shattered a handful of lives because of it. My own life was in jeopardy by the end, but if it hadn’t been for the heroic actions of Inspector Storme, fighting the madwoman even while stabbed, I wouldn’t be here to write this article.’”
A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. He quickly cleared it, but the hand holding the newspaper shook. “She took absolutely no credit in that capture, when it had been her notes and insights that had led to the identification of the killer.”
Andrew shrugged. “Modesty is a good quality to have, and to find it in a reporter is even more rare.”
“Yes, well.” He once more cleared his throat, and for a few seconds, the words on the paper blurred due to moisture in his eyes. “‘Thanks to his attention to detail and his unrelenting determination, the threat has been neutralized, and London can once more rest safe… until the next time.
“‘Below is an interview I conducted with Inspector Storme that will give you some insight into the daily operations of a Bow Street Runner, but don’t try and call them that, for they prefer the term Principal Officers.’”
He declined to read the interview aloud, but he passed the newspaper to his mother so she could peruse it. Then he met Andrew’s gaze. “What? I can see the amusement in your eyes.”
“And I can see the embarrassment in yours. You don’t like praise.”
“I do not. I was merely doing what was asked of me in my position.”
“With the assistance of the reporter. You’re near bursting with pride for her.”
“Of course. She handled herself well, and because of that, we solved the cases. Together.” But it was so much more than that.
“Ah, I see.” His cousin grinned so wide William wanted to smack it off his face. “Miss Bancroft is quite something.”
“That she is.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Have you something to say about that?”
“Only this.” Andrew rested an ankle on a knee. “Don’t you feel she would make a fine addition to the Storme family?”
Another flush of heat crept up the back of William’s neck. “I do, of course, but…” But what? Why the delay, outside of letting her heal? It was rather terrifying to offer up his heart even though she’d already said she loved him. She’d had four days to think about everything after that horrible night. What if she’d decided a life of intrigue wasn’t for her? “I can’t help but think after those events, she might not wish to potentially be thrust into another such scenario.”
“Well then, ask the girl to marry you and see if she’s willing to follow you into danger occasionally. Seems to me she held her own. Plus, she didn’t order you away after you rescued her nor fall into hysterics. That’s something.” Amusement danced in his stormy eyes. “Go live your life and enjoy the happiness that’s coming your way. Perhaps you’ll have children you can mold into the next generation of detectives. I rather doubt London’s crime problem will improve.”
“True.” Imagine, fat little cherub babies. Imagine a wife! A lump of emotion lodged in his throat. “What if I fail at being a decent husband?”
“Then I’ll personally take you to task, but I do understand your concerns. I harbored them too before I married and during those early months. You learn, constantly make choices that have you growing. It helps with the right woman by your side.” Andrew glanced about the remains of tea then at William’s mother. “Dearest auntie, my mother wishes for you to come to dinner tomorrow evening. Do you mind if I ring for a refresh? I’m rather in the mood for some gossip, and Sarah would appreciate hearing all the scandal when I return home.”
“How delightful!” His mother smiled. “I should adore that.”
“I’ll summon the butler.” William sighed as his cousin stood and crossed the room toward the bell pull. Apparently, he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts any time soon, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to be in Francesca’s company.
*
March 20, 1819
Fanny frowned at her mother as she fussed and fluttered about the dressing room. “What is so important about this afternoon that you’re concerned about my attire?” She’d been alternately grouchy and grateful for the past two weeks, for she’d survived an ordeal that many women wouldn’t have. Yet, William hadn’t deigned to pay her a visit during her recuperation period.
Had he changed his mind about her? Even after the article that she’d wrote ran in her newspaper in a prominent spot on the front page?
“Hush, you, and stop being such a sourpuss.” Her mother directed the maid to twist and curl Fanny’s hair into an intricate updo that was more suitable for a ballroom than another day of lounging about the house. “Inspector Storme came by a few days ago to talk to your father.”
“Oh?” The hairpins she’s been holding for the maid tumbled from her suddenly lax hand. Her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “What, ah, was the outcome of that talk?”
“Can you not guess?” Her mother lifted a gown of deep purple from the bed and held it up for Fanny’s inspection. “The inspector wants to marry you.”
“And Papa said?”
“He gave his permission and they worked out a contract.”
“So, his mind was clear enough to make an arrangement?”
“Yes. And he had his man-of-affairs in as well. But your father was cognizant and a bit relieved that you’ll be settled.”
Once her hair was finished and the two mother of pearl combs secured in the tresses, Fanny rose from her vanity in somewhat of a daze. She let her mother assist her on with the gown, and as the cool folds of the taffeta settled over her skin, she sighed, and then was forced to hold her breath as a hiccup made its presence known. As soon as the reaction passed, she looked at her mother. “Are you and Papa happy with the match? You wanted a title for me, but I—”
“We’re happy that you’re happy. After what happened when we almost lost you…” Her voice caught and tears sprang to her eyes. “Your father and I realized we should have let you choose from the outset.” Gently, she turned Fanny about so their gazes connected. “I only ask that you don’t linger on a long engagement, for your father’s sake. He’s rather anxious to have you wed while he can remember you.”
“Of course.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyelids. Life was ever-changing. “I’m sure William won’t take issue with that.”
“And while we’ve not made peace with the fact your position at the newspaper isn’t benign or consigned to safe stories of ton society any longer, we realize this is the life you’ve chosen for yourself. Just be careful.”
“I will, and if the inspector is with me, I have no cause to worry.” But she did, for had he changed his mind on that? She smoothed her hands along the front of the gown, turning this way and that while peering into the nearby cheval glass. “How do I look?” Though her wounds were healing nicely, the few stitches she’d received for that cut on her abdomen had thrown off her self-confidence. Would there be much scarring?
“Like a woman on the verge of becoming engaged.” Her mother gave her a swift hug. “Inspector Storme should arrive at any moment. We’ll give you the privacy of the drawing room.”
Butterfly wings brushed at her stomach. It wasn’t every day a woman found herself engaged. Well, at least for her.
A discreet knock on the door made the rest of her thoughts fly out of her head. Both Fanny and her mother glanced at the butler.
“Inspector Storme is here to see Miss Bancroft. I’ve shown him into the drawing room as requested.” He looked at Fanny. “Do you require tea?”
Her nerves fluttered so badly she didn’t think she’d be able to keep down a cup of tea. “No, thank you. The day is fine, so I’ll probably encourage him to take me driving after… Well, afterward.” At least that would afford them true privacy, for no doubt her parents would wish to hover and ply William with questions.
“Very good, Miss Bancroft.” Then the butler departed, and Fanny pressed a hand to her warm cheek.
“I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting.” The only thing she wanted to do was throw herself into William’s arms and reassure herself that he had suffered no ill effects.
“Fingers crossed, dear.” With one last hug, her mother let her go.
The closer Fanny came to the drawing room, the more riotous her heartbeat grew, and when her gaze fell upon William as he contemplated the Mayfair streets out the window with his hands clasped behind his back, need shivered down her spine.
“Good afternoon, William.” She didn’t bother closing the door, for there was no point. Her parents would lurk, for they were probably as excited as she.
He swung about. So many emotions flitted over his face, she couldn’t settle on just one. “It’s so good to see you again, Francesca.”
Oh, that deep rumble of his voice set off an avalanche of tingles within her chest. “You look well. I assume you’re healing nicely?” The fact they were reduced to inconsequential niceties sent anxiety into her belly.
“Yes. All is well.”
Fanny came further into the room. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked in a soft voice. “I’ve missed you.”
His expression crumpled into concern. “I wanted to allow you time to heal, to acclimate to what happened, and I was confined to bed for a few days anyway with my own injuries.” For the first time since she’d known him, a hint of vulnerability shadowed his eyes. “I fear the separation might have made you change your mind about me.”
“Never.” Then, because she couldn’t stand it any longer, she closed the distance between them and threw herself into his waiting arms, and they were just as eager as he held her close. “I thought you had changed your mind and that was what kept you away.”
“Once I make up my mind about something, it rarely changes.” The scents of bay, citrus, and spices washed over her like a cleansing flood. “I apologize profusely if my staying away caused you distress. That wasn’t my intention. There was much to put into motion.” He set her at arm’s length, but kept hold of her hands, and the intensity of his gaze sent tiny fires licking through her blood. “Thank you for writing that article. I’m so proud of you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes from his praise as well as the admiration evident on his face. “I only reported the facts.”
“No, you completely left out the part where you played a huge role in unmasking the killer or even providing the distraction that led to me taking her down.” William squeezed her fingers. “We make a good team.”
“I think so too.” The warmth of his fingers—had he taken his gloves off prior to her arrival?—on hers only added fuel to the wanton desire stacking like kindling inside her. “Did you mean what you said that night?”
“Refresh my memory, sweeting. I’ve applied myself to many tasks since then.” But he winked, and she knew he remembered.
“That you wished for me to remain as your partner for upcoming cases.” When she tried to pull her hands away, he tightened his hold. “My editor thinks it’s a good idea—within reason—especially after the article ran and increased their subscriptions. After all, the General Evening Post had the only exclusive on the female serial killer.” And what a sensation she’d caused in that newspaper office when she’d turned in her article! Never would she forget it or the grudging respect she’d been given by her editor as well as her male counterparts.
“For good reason. You’ve a knack for journalism.” Then concern lined his face, furrowed his brow. “I’ll concede to the plan on two conditions.”
“Which are?” Why was adult life always a series of conditions, rules, and compromises?
“First, that you go into this partnership with your eyes wide open. There might be danger involved; there might not. Some of my cases are incredibly tedious, but some are horrific and gruesome with no answers. And some require hunting down criminal elements that won’t hesitate to harm you in order to get to me.” His voice broke slightly, but he cleared his throat and continued. “I couldn’t bear to see you injured, or worse, on my behalf.”
“It’s a partnership, William. That means we’re equals in everything. I’m more than capable of defending myself, or you, on occasion.” She arched an eyebrow. “Besides, I’m a real journalist now. What makes you assume you’ll always be the target of ire-laden criminals?”
“Touché.” The corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a grin, and all she wanted to do was kiss him until he did.
“And the other condition?” Drat it all if her voice hadn’t suddenly taken on a breathless quality.
“Just this.” Still holding her hands, William sank to one knee with a slight grimace. No doubt his stab wounds were still a touch painful. “I’m offering you this partnership if you’ll consent to becoming my wife.” His stormy gray eyes never left her face, and the longer she looked, the more love shone up from the dark depths. “I’m not the wordsmith that you are, so I’ll keep it brief. I love you. I can’t go another day forward in my life without securing your promise that you’ll come with me as my bride. I want your partnership—your love—in all the ways that matter between two people.”
He loves me!
Those tiny little words sent happiness pinwheeling through her stomach. Never had anything sounded as sweet. “Oh, William.” Fanny’s hands trembled, and once more tears filled her eyes. Never had she thought a proposal more romantic or more… him. “I love you too, so of course I’ll marry you.” Then, to her mortification, a loud hiccup escaped her throat.
