“Yes.” She looked so lost, so alone in that moment, his chest tightened with empathy. “He used to be such a large figure in my life. I don’t know how I’ll become accustomed to his loss.”
Daring much, he scooped up one of her hands, clad in a delicate ivory lace glove, and brought it to his lips, kissing the middle knuckle. Her fingers were warm in his grasp. The faint scent of apple blossoms wafted to his nose. “You have my sympathies.” Perhaps she would be open to a courtship. They’d rubbed along well enough together during Christmastide. She wasn’t unappealing, and he did like her laugh. It would certainly take the immediate pressure off him since he already knew her to a point. And he could be a friend to her during this difficult time in her life.
“I appreciate that.” Then she shook her head, and the sadness lurking in her expression vanished. How did she do that, cast everything aside without letting it linger? “Since I returned to London, I’ve had the opportunity to become a journalist.”
“Oh?” Immediately wary, he took a step back. In his business, members of the press were not to be trusted and would twist words to their ultimate advantage. Anything to sell copy… or destroy a man’s reputation if that was how the political winds blew. “How so? You hadn’t mentioned you had an affinity for such work during Christmastide.” It was surprising that a daughter of a viscount would have been encouraged to immerse herself in a trade.
The blush deepened. “Well, not a serious journalist just yet.” She pressed her lips together and his gaze dropped to her mouth. The bottom piece of flesh was slightly fuller than the top, and both were a dusky pink. What would she do if he asked to kiss her? “I’m a society reporter for the General Evening Post, and…” She sighed. “Not a good one, I’m afraid.”
William resumed his normal breathing pattern after realizing he held his breath. He shoved the nodcock idea of a kiss from his mind to concentrate on her words. The paper she wrote for came out on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and it wasn’t one of the more popular presses. “Why do you say that? You seemed competent to me the last time we met.” Was that too blunt an observation?
“My editor tells me time and time again I’m too awkward in society, too timid, and with my limp, I can’t chase down stories fast enough. To say nothing of the fact the content I’m pursuing is rather… dull. Even I’m not interested in it.” She bowed her head, but not before he caught a shimmer of tears in those light blue eyes. “I’m trying my best. However, I fear it’s not good enough.”
Her distress tugged at his compassion. Hadn’t he had a lifetime of feeling the same when compared to Andrew? “Never let someone’s words make you think less of yourself or your abilities.” Yes, a courtship could benefit them both, for he could teach her how to be more fearless and bold, and his mother would be placated for a time. There was no mandate that said a friendship needed to go any further than that. “Miss Bancroft, I apologize for changing the subject and the abruptness of my question, but would you be open to me paying my addresses to you?”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened as she brought her head up to meet his gaze. “I… that should be lovely except…”
“Yes?” William gritted his teeth. Why wouldn’t she arrive at the point?
“I’m being courted by someone already. He’s a viscount and encouraged by my father.” Yet pain and anguish jumped into those expressive eyes.
Why? What had gone on in her life since he’d last seen her? Did she not welcome this viscount’s suit? His Bow Street intuition flared and urged him to inquire further. Annoyance churned hot in his chest regardless. “Ah, but you’re not engaged, true?”
“True.” Hope flashed in her expression and awakened his own. That initial spark of attraction he’d felt between them during the Christmastide holidays was still there. For whatever reason, it made him inordinately pleased. “Do you wish to call on me as well?”
Then she had no plans on discouraging her first suitor? He narrowed his eyes. More to the point, did he—William—truly wish to do this? Especially if he had competition for her affections? It would mean he couldn’t play with her feelings by using her as a shield for his mother or even keeping their relationship at a friendship level. He’d have to do the pretty in truth… even if having a woman in his life ran to cross purposes. However, now that someone else was romantically interested in her, she’d been raised in his estimation. That alone was appalling and didn’t say much to his standing as a gentleman. Yet, as she stared with expectation in her expression, slowly, he nodded. “I am if you’re willing.” He was every bit as good—if not better—than some unnamed viscount who’d put emotions that didn’t reflect romance in her eyes.
When she smiled, her whole face lit, and he was suddenly assailed with temporary dizziness. She really was a striking bit if he were honest. “I’d like that.”
Good God, what have I just thrust myself into?