“That matters not, Inspector.” Their host, a congenial lord of indeterminate years, clapped his hands. “Someone bring a violin from the music room.” He glanced about and his attention fell on a pretty, young lady with loads of blonde hair piled upon her head. “Miss Dalrymple can accompany him on the pianoforte.”
There was a mad rush and then a pianoforte was brought in and placed near the fireplace. Someone offered a violin and bow to William, who then accepted his fate with a frown. As Miss Dalrymple took a seat on the bench and settled behind the instrument, the inspector overtly flirted with her. And from the blush on the young lady’s cheeks and her string of giggles, his potency was appreciated.
Damn your eyes, Inspector.A stab of hot jealousy lanced through Fanny’s chest. She didn’t care for the turnabout, and she certainly didn’t like him paying attention to another woman. No doubt he did it merely to stir up annoyance. Well, it worked. Already she regretted mentioning his talent, but at least this way she’d finally have the chance to hear him play. Her eyes were drawn to him as he experimented with the bow and adjusted the violin strings by tightening or loosening them.
He gave Miss Dalrymple the lead, and when the first few notes of a popular country reel burst upon the air, he easily matched the melody with the violin. How he managed to make the notes leap and jump as if they were living entities, she had no idea, but she was captivated by the rich sound all the same.
Fanny lost sight of him as dance after dance came and went. Eventually, the company wished for a rest, so they fell to singing along with tavern songs, a couple more ribald than others. During those pieces, William grinned, and her heart trembled, for he seemed more genuine and happier when involved in music than he ever had before.
When Miss Dalrymple’s store of memorized music ran out, William rose to the occasion in magnificent fashion. He addressed the assembled guests. “For my parting piece, I’ll play you an aria from the opera Tancredi by composer Gioachino Rossini. Please enjoy.”
He stepped around the pianoforte and stood in the middle of the room while guests crowded around the perimeter. Soon, the haunting notes from the song filled the air. With every stroke and swipe of the bow, William moved his whole body as if he’d suddenly become one with the instrument. His eyes drifted closed, and a faint grin curved his mouth as he played. As impressive as it was that he’d memorized such a complicated piece, the sounds he invoked from the violin and the way he gave life to the music was much more impressive.
As she watched him, her respect for him grew. In fact, Fanny felt more than a little awe for him as she let the notes drift about her and carry her away on the story the aria represented, for she’d seen the opera performed a couple of times at Covent Gardens.
When the notes reached a crescendo, tears filled her eyes, for the Bow Street Runner was a masterful violinist. The evocative notes seemed to reach right into her chest and wrap around her heart; never would that organ be the same again. By the time the aria ended and the last of the notes hovered in the hushed room, those tears had fallen to her cheeks. She stared at him as if seeing him for the first time.
Why had she never noticed the gentle care and attention he gave to the instrument and the bow or the way he’d felt the music made him seem as if lit from within? When he caressed a woman’s body, would it feel as tender? And why did he cling to investigating murder when he harbored such talent?
Wild applause followed. A faint blush stained William’s neck and cheeks as he lifted a hand in acknowledgement. Carefully, he set the violin and bow on top of the pianoforte, and when Miss Dalrymple was called upon to play another country reel, he slowly made his way toward Fanny’s position.
Suddenly afraid and with her self-confidence plummeting, Fanny moved from the chair to one of the windows. Soft snowflakes drifted lazily onto the ground from the velvety dark skies. Why would he bother courting a woman like her, who had no affinity for playing an instrument or painting or watercolors, like other ton women? Nor was she able to walk without a limp. Perhaps she should vanish out into the night and leave him alone. Miss Dalrymple certainly looked enamored of him, as did many other ladies in attendance tonight. A tremor of disappointment took root in the pit of her stomach. This man who felt things so deeply and kept them hidden, this man who played the violin with such passion didn’t deserve her fickle behavior.
You must make a decision, Fanny.
“May I assume from your reaction that you enjoyed the aria?” he asked in a soft voice from behind her shoulder.
The rich timbre in his tones sent a ripple of need down her spine as she turned to face him. “I did.” Belatedly, she remembered the tears on her cheeks, and she scrubbed at the moisture. “You were magnificent. And I find myself in awe of you.”
“Oh, that’s merely a hobby I enjoy when I’m not out chasing down my first love of investigating crime.” But there was no denying the pleasure in his expression.
Fanny pressed her lips together, trembling anew when his gaze briefly dropped to her mouth. Was he thinking about the last time they’d shared a kiss? “You should pursue music for your livelihood. Imagine the joy and hope you could bring people.”
He snorted. “It’s not as satisfying as serving justice or solving complex issues that murder brings.” When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Tell me about yourself, Francesca.” Another shiver went down her spine but this one lodged in her lower belly, making her feel things oddly foreign and exciting all at once. “Tell me things no one else knows about you.”
She was rapidly in danger of falling under the spell he created with his voice and that intense look in his storm-tossed eyes. “Ah… I don’t like my foods to touch each other on my plate for it dilutes the flavor of each offering. Oh, and I succumb to attacks of hiccups whenever I’m extremely excited or frightened.”
“Now that is interesting, and I wouldn’t mind experimenting to find out if that’s true.” When he flashed a smile, her breath caught.
“Oh!” Everything she thought to say flew right out of her mind. Why couldn’t she merely stand here and look at him, admiring the handiwork the Creator had done when making this man?
Another country dance started. William briefly glanced over his shoulder before seeking out her gaze again. “You told me once that you adored dancing. Would you care to indulge tonight?”
Of course reality would have to come crashing through the pretty web being woven around them. “I can’t dance due to my limp. I’d rather not have people stare and feel pity.”
“Rubbish. You’ve thrown that up as an excuse.”
“I have not!” She blew out a breath that ruffled a few curls on her forehead.
“Mmm, are you certain?” He cocked his head to the side. “Or is it merely a crutch of sorts, a device to hide behind that assures you’re invisible when out at social events, to make certain others think of you as less-than so they can’t reject you.”
Her lower jaw dropped, and the longer she stared, the more his grin widened. “Perhaps. It’s rather a buggar when meeting people if we have a connection, but once the limp makes itself known, I’m suddenly persona non grata. My psyche can only take so much.”
“That’s understandable, but I still feel you can indulge in certain dances. Perhaps you’re merely waiting for the right partner.”
Oh, dear.The butterflies in her belly erupted into flight at once, for he was quite charming when he wanted to be.
Gently, he led her back to the chair she’d vacated and encouraged her to sit. “How did your injury occur?”