A deep pink blush spread over her cheeks. If she understood his unspoken meaning, she ignored it. “Do you have a reason?” she asked instead. Never once did she drop her gaze, and for that, his respect edged upward. She was learning.
“For the crimes?”
“No, for me to choose you?” She was blunt about the conversation, where he’d couched his concern in double talk. Damn, if that didn’t engage his interest.
But it also brought with it another wave of annoyance. “I assumed you were the journalist, Miss Bancroft. Perhaps you should unearth that answer.” Hadn’t she used a similar rejoinder on him?
“That wasn’t well done of you, Inspector Storme.” Her eyes flashed blue fire, and he’d be a nodcock not to pick up on the emphasis of his title.
“Bah! We’re done here.” Quickly, and with less respect than the dead deserved, he yanked the sheets over each body. “I should probably make an appearance upstairs in the event there are updates.”
Curiosity lined her face. “Might I come with you? To see you in your natural environment?”
“Wouldn’t that make Wainwright jealous?” God, he was acting like a prick, and there was no reason for it except that she’d gotten under his skin, but obviously he hadn’t affected her the same. It confused the hell out of him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.
“Must you act like an arse?” Instead of storming off, which had been his intention by saying what he had, his companion closed the distance between them. Despite her limp, her agitation was profound. She drilled a forefinger into his chest. “I don’t know what is wrong with you today or why you’re behaving the cad, but I don’t appreciate it.”
Where was the wallflower image she’d cultivated when he first met her, and why had it fled each time she was in his company? Had he helped build her confidence without knowing it? “And I don’t appreciate the fact you’re letting me dangle on the same hook as the viscount.” There, he’d spoken what was uppermost in his mind. Perhaps now his thinking would clear, and he could concentrate on this case. There were interviews to conduct, in any event.
Hurt and surprise warred for dominance in her eyes. “Did you, for one moment, ever consider what I’m facing?” Again, she drummed that finger into his chest. Through the layers of fabric, the heat of that touch marked him. “It’s my future that hangs in the balance, my life that will change depending on who I choose, or if I fail at being a journalist,” she added in a choked voice. “I have to decide which one of you is better to spend the remainder of my days with. It’s quite a weighed issue.”
No, he hadn’t given thought to how any of this affected her. “I’m sorry.” Those words didn’t come easy, but since the Christmastide house party, he was learning that his way might not be the only way of looking at a problem. “What do you want of me?” A little guidance wouldn’t hurt either.
Some of the anger left her expression. Her lips curved with a genuine smile. It didn’t reach her eyes and her chin quivered a tiny bit, but it was something. “Come up to the mark and do something definitive that will tip my hand. If you want exclusive access to my time, then give me yours. We’re either partners on this,” she gestured with a hand to presumably encompass the cellars as well as the cases, “on all of it—or we’re not. It’s that simple.”
Put in such succinct terms, it was difficult to argue.
Tension snapped between them. She was beautiful when in a snit, and all he wanted to do was catch her up into his arms, push her against the wall, and kiss her until she forgot about the viscount and his bloody position in society. Yet this was his place of work, openly accessible to anyone within Whitehall, and soon the coroner would come with the undertaker to place the bodies into those coffins.
William quelled the urge. How the devil had this one woman managed to set him spinning through confusion so quickly? He took a shuddering breath and eased backward a step. “I understand and I hear you.” Perhaps he had been lax on giving her attention, but to his credit, he hadn’t taken the courtship seriously until right this moment when she looked like a Valkyrie of old, vengeful, and intent to pluck out his heart. “Would you, ah, care to walk with me through St. James Park? It’s a bit chilly, I know, but otherwise it’s a lovely day.” And would fulfill her immediate request for time in her company.
Interviews be damned.
“And I did promise I’d be at your disposal.”
Surprise jumped into her expression. The dark blue ring around her light blue irises grew more pronounced. Had it done so when he’d kissed her last night? There hadn’t been enough illumination to tell. “I would enjoy that very much.”
“Good.” Twin threads of pleasure and anxiety twisted down his spine as he offered his crooked arm. “I rather fancy some fresh air after this.”
Five minutes later, they stood at the curb in front of the Whitehall building. From his side, Francesca’s quick inhalation of breath alerted him.
“What’s wrong?” He immediately glanced up and down the street teeming with vehicular and pedestrian traffic.
“Look there.” She pointed. “Isn’t that the red-haired young lady we spoke to at the crime scene. A Miss Newton if I remember right?”
William narrowed his eyes. By Jove, it was! “What the devil is she doing here? And she’s not paying attention.”
“She’ll be trampled.” Francesca urged him forward. “Assist her, please William.”
Well, at least she was back to using his Christian name. That was something. A mail coach raced along the street, heading directly for the woman. Damn and blast. “Miss Newton! Look out!” Either she didn’t hear his warning through the ambient noise on the street, or she didn’t care. There was no recourse except for him to physically tackle her, more or less pick her up into his arms, and carry out of the way of the coach.
“Oh, dear.” Stunned, with her emerald bonnet tilted crazily over one ear, Miss Newton stared up at him, clinging to his arms on the opposite side of the street from where Francesca waited. “Thank you so much, Inspector Storme.”
“You’re welcome. I’d advise you to be more careful when crossing a busy street.” He released her once he was certain she’d gained her feet.
“You must truly care about me to do such a heroic thing,” she continued as her gaze went soft and her lips formed an “O” of surprise.
What sort of gammon was this? “I would have done it for anyone in danger.”