“I’ll bear that in mind.” He pulled out his pocket watch and cursed beneath his breath. “I really must run, Mother. I’m late enough as it is.” As he replaced the time piece, he gave her a wave and then fairly bolted from the room before she could ask more probing questions, but one thing was certain. The conversation had made him more annoyed than before.
What the devil was he to do about the problem of Francesca when her attentions lay divided between him and Lord Wainwright? To say nothing of the fact that the viscount might be involved in this most recent murder.
*
The ride fromFrancesca’s townhouse to Whitehall was a relatively short trip, and on the way, light snow flurries had begun to fall. Not enough to become excited about, but just enough to drive home the point that February still retained a chill. He frowned at her from across the narrow aisle.
“Why am I never allowed to meet your parents? I’ve called a few times, and each time there is an excuse.”
Her eyes were wide in the gloom filling the interior of the vehicle. “It’s not my fault they are either out of pocket or you’re whisking me away on a timed schedule. I assure you, it’s not by design.”
A grunt was his only response, and for the space of several heartbeats, he remained silent. Then, “Has Wainwright met your parents, your family?”
A faint blush jumped into her pale cheeks. “Yes, twice actually, but then you already knew that, for my father was the one who introduced the viscount to me.”
He did know that but had forgotten. William glowered all the more. “That’s hardly fair and seems you’re favoring him over me. Especially in the eyes of your family.”
She huffed out a breath. Her gloved fingers tightened on the strings of her reticule. The black beading matched the fancywork on her navy gown that looked to be of a wool blend. Though his fingers itched to touch it to confirm—to touch her—he tamped his reaction. “It means nothing, William, except that you’re always coming and going. I’m sure you’ll meet them soon enough. You talked briefly with Mother days ago, remember.”
“I wonder.” He turned his head to the window. They were nearly to the imposing edifice of Whitehall that housed various government offices.
“Will we not discuss what happened last evening then?” she asked in a soft voice drenched with confusion.
Knots pulled in his stomach. “The kiss?” His voice was as low as hers.
“What else?”
When he trained his attention on her, he sighed. Vulnerability clouded her eyes, and the budding frown that marred her lips would drive him mad if he let it. “Fine. I kissed you. Did you find fault with that?” Why the devil was he behaving like a surly beast?
Because she hadn’t given him exclusivity, which meant she wasn’t as fully invested in the relationship as he was. His breath stalled. When the devil had he decided that for himself?
“No, I didn’t.” She pressed a gloved hand to her cheek, but her gaze never dropped. “In fact, I…” A sigh escaped. “I found it quite exciting and exhilarating. It had me at sixes and sevens for a long time afterward.”
“Ah.” He wouldn’t know, for after that kiss that had plowed into him like a blow to the gut, he’d left the musicale. But it pleased him, nonetheless, that he’d managed to affect her. “I trust you weren’t too nonplussed to converse with the viscount for the remainder of the evening.”
“I was distracted, to say the least,” she murmured, and remarkably, the blush deepened in her cheeks. “However, I must tell you that when Lord Wainwright escorted me home, he kissed me goodbye.”
Damn and blast!
Though he burned to know how his kiss of pure desire had compared with the viscount’s offering, he bit back the question on the tip of his tongue. “How nice it must feel to have men competing for your attention.”
Francesca rolled her eyes to the ceiling of the carriage. “Put away your quills, Inspector Porcupine.” She touched his boot with a toe. “You have nothing to fear in that way, for your skill went above and beyond that of the viscount’s.”
That mollified him slightly, but her teasing moniker had him wanting to laugh—something he hadn’t done nearly enough of in life. “It’s good to know.” Yet he must obviously be lacking in other regards, and that knowledge roiled through his belly like fire. If she couldn’t see that he was as good as a man with a title, perhaps he didn’t want her after all.
There was no more opportunity to further the conversation, for they’d reached their destination.
All too soon, the carriage lurched to a halt. It rocked as the driver came down from his perch. Seconds later the door swung open, and he lowered the steps.
“Thank you, Robert,” William said as he exited the vehicle and then turned back to offer a hand to his companion. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting? We shouldn’t be more than an hour.”
“Very well, Inspector,” the driver responded with a nod.
As soon as Francesca slipped her hand into his, warmth suffused William’s arm and trailed down his spine to lodge in his groin. “Thank you.” Her barely there whisper rasped in his ears as he guided her to the ground. Would she be as polite and decorous if he were to whisk her into a private location and have his way with her?
Get hold of yourself, William. The woman is fickle, and you don’t need that in your life. This reaction is merely an excess of lust. Nothing more.
He escorted into the building with a sense of pride swelling his chest. What would she think of it? Would it impress her over and above what the viscount could offer? Those questions only served to build upon the annoyance already bubbling within, and by the time they reached the cellars behind the edifice, he wanted to snarl and snap like an injured animal.