He shrugged. “A man must do something with his life, especially if he isn’t possessed of a title or a fortune.”
“True.” Fanny wrote down a couple more notes.
“My work is interesting as well as fulfilling,” William continued, as if now that he’d started talking, he wasn’t keen to stop. “Solving crime keeps the mind sharp. I enjoy many aspects that come with being a Bow Street Runner, with the exception of being hired by a family due to someone going missing.” He blew out a breath and turned his head to the window. “Or when I must tell a family their loved one was found dead. When the verdict is murder, it’s doubly difficult.”
“I imagine that’s a dismal affair no matter the circumstances,” she said in a soft voice. “How do you grasp normality in your life after seeing so much violence and grimness?” She pressed her lips together as she thought about her next words. “How to do you pull yourself out of the dark cloud that must come from your line of work?” When he turned his head and met her gaze, she rushed onward. “Obviously, there must be days you’re beaten down and have very little hope for humanity.”
“Yes, this is all true.” Respect lined his expression, for her or the questions she couldn’t say. “Men in my occupation run the risk of wanting to end it all because of the destruction, the absolute evil we see each day. And I’ve had a few good friends leave Bow Street because of it.” He rubbed a gloved hand along his jaw. “However, I manage to compartmentalize my cases, locking them away into various sections of my mind and try not to let that bleed over into my personal life.”
“Do you succeed?”
“At times.” The shadows were back in his eyes, constantly shifting, hiding things he would probably never tell her. “At others, when everything presses in on me and I can no longer lock the horrors away, I indulge in the violin.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You play an instrument?” What an interesting development.
“Oh yes. I had years of tutoring until it became a habit instilled, and I’ve always had a deep appreciation for music. Where my sister Caroline is a gifted artist, my talents went to music. Isobel, however, I’m afraid her talents went awry and gathered themselves into flirting.” When he grinned, her pencil nub skated mindlessly across her paper as she gawked, for it quite transformed his face and took away some of the grief his position brought. “Over the years I’ve found that indulging in something beautiful helps to calm me and washes my mind clean. Plus, if I can put a bit of loveliness into the world, that has to be a good thing.” He blew out a breath. “It’s rather difficult to explain.”
“How lovely, though, to imagine all the same.” Fanny cleared her throat before she became too enamored of the idea of him. She wrote out a note. “Might you play for me sometime?”
William shrugged, and his greatcoat pulled snug along the breadth of his shoulders. What would it feel like to explore them, to feel his arms around her, press her lips to the underside of his jaw where the beginnings of rough stubble might form? “I don’t see why not, especially if we’re to come to an understanding during this courtship period.”
The heat in his gaze sent warmth flooding back into her cheeks. How had he managed to change the subject so effortlessly? “I’d enjoy that.” Did she refer to his continued calling, or an opportunity to hear him play the violin?
“By the by, how does the viscount fare? I assume you’ve seen him during my absence?” There was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been present during their interview.
“Whose fault is that? I didn’t ask you to stay away.” Though his silence had been noted.
And where had this sudden streak of bravery come from that she’d say something so tart-mouthed to him?
“Bow Street took all my attention.” It wasn’t an apology nor an excuse. It was merely his reality, and she’d need to accept it if their connection moved deeper.
She made another note, this time for her own personal use. “What do the women in your life think of having the bulk of your time mired in your work?”
“My mother and sisters?” Genuine confusion rang in his voice.
“No, women you are interested in romantically.” Her heartbeat accelerated slightly. Would he admit to having a mistress?
He snorted. “I’ve found that investigating murder isn’t conducive to romance, nor do the facts therein impress most ladies. I’m very much a hardened bachelor.”
“That’s too bad, for given half a chance, you’d be quite the catch if you believed you are.” Fanny closed the notebook and then shoved it and the pencil nub into her reticule.
Emotion clouded his eyes she couldn’t read, but he didn’t remove his gaze from her face. “So, regarding the viscount then?”
“Hmmph.” She felt a trifle defensive since the direction of the conversation had turned. “I suppose he’s well.” It was her turn to glance out the window and avoid scrutiny. “He’s eager to be in my company, and he’s fun at times with an evident sense of humor, even if he wishes to hasten the direction of our relationship.” Once or twice, he’d attempted to pull her into a shadowy corner or unused room, but she’d denied him, hiding behind fear and uncertainty. Plus, she couldn’t be certain he was a good fit, but was that just missish nerves?
“I see.” William remained silent for a few moments before speaking again. “Has he kissed you yet?”
“What?” Shock lanced through her chest. She snapped her attention to his face. “That is private and privileged information.”
“Yet, you’re a reporter, so I rather think a bit of tit for tat is valid here.” When he lifted an eyebrow and she remained silent, he continued. “Then that answer is no.” The grin he wore positively brimmed with wickedness. “You wouldn’t be so shocked or annoyed at the question if he had.”
How did he manage to hit so close to the truth? Did something in her attitude, her appearance, her expression give away her thoughts so clearly? She’d need to ask him… later. Right now, aggravation brewed within her. “Lord Wainwright is a gentleman.” To a point.
William snorted. “Even a gentleman worth his salt should kiss ladies he’s courting. Or at least try to. After all, isn’t that the point of courtship?”
“I rather think he wants more from me than kisses.” Drat. Stop talking, Fanny!
“Oh?”