Slowly, he eased off her and then assisted her into a standing position as he rose. “Yes, it was necessary.” He put a hand to his cheek and when his gloved fingers came away with a light trace of blood, he glared. “Someone deliberately shot in our direction, but why?” When he threw a glance about the immediate area, he sucked in a breath. “There.” An oak tree stood behind them, its branches bare except for a handful of clinging, dead leaves.
“What does a tree being there mean?”
“Just this.” He approached the tree, looked over the bark until he found what he searched for. “Here is where the ball lodged.” It was perhaps three feet up from the ground—the exact height of where her head was before he’d tackled her. “You were the target, Francesca.” Sour bile crept into his throat and turned his stomach.
“What?” Her face blanched and her eyes widened, becoming impossibly big in her face. “How is that possible? I’ve done nothing to anyone.”
“I’m not certain but it’s true.” Again, he touched a hand to his cheek. “If the shooter meant me, they would have blown the back of my head off, but they didn’t have a clear shot to you. Thus, the grazing.”
“Oh, dear God.” When her knees buckled, William slipped an arm about her in support. “What does this mean?”
He had no more answers than he had thirty seconds ago, but suddenly his thoughts cleared. I care for her too much to let anything happen to her. A megrim formed behind his eyes as Chief Inspector Pryce loped over to their location. “Anything?”
“I found nothing of import.”
“The ball is lodged in the tree just there.” William pointed to the exact location. “Someone wanted Miss Bancroft dead.” Quickly, he explained his reasoning.
“That’s a rather thin theory, Storme.”
“Don’t I know it, but it’s all we have. Somehow, she’s connected to these cases, whether through Lord Wainwright or something else, I have no idea.” He exchanged a glance with his superior and hoped he conveyed what he couldn’t say. “Miss Bancroft and I will call on Lord Coxhill’s family. I’d rather she be in my company instead of sent home at present.” If at all possible, he’d try to keep her close.
“Understood. Come ’round to Whitehall after. We need to talk.”
“I will.” William nodded. Francesca shook in his hold, no doubt from exposure or shock. “Let’s get you into the carriage.” He looked again at his superior. “Trust my hunch, Chief Inspector Pryce. Place a guard at her townhouse until I can work out a schedule between us.”
“I’ll arrange it immediately after I clear the scene.”
“Thank you.” Once he’d settled her into the carriage, gave the new direction to his driver, he sat beside her and closed the door.
“Do you truly think someone wished me dead?” Her voice was small, and her chin trembled.
“I do.” That tiny show of vulnerability went straight to his heart, and he lost a piece of that organ to her in that moment.
“But why?”
“I intend to find out.” Then because they both needed it, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I’ll protect you to the best of my ability. I promise.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Life is dark sometimes and explanations aren’t immediately known, but that doesn’t mean we won’t discover them and neutralize the threat.”
“I know.” A hiccup escaped her. She met his gaze, but her forced laughter fell flat. “I suppose—” hiccup “—I even have them when—” hiccup “—I’m afraid.” Hiccup, hiccup!
“Ah, dearest,” he whispered in a barely there voice as he pressed his lips against her temple. Had she noticed his slip?
Her body shook as the hiccups ran their course. “Thank you for including me instead—” hiccup “—of sending me home.” Hiccup!
“I suspect I can’t solve these cases without you.” To say nothing of unraveling his twisting, evolving feelings for her. “Perhaps, though, we’ll need to postpone that tea for a bit.”
“Agreed.” Hiccup! She laid her head on his shoulder. “I don’t like the feeling of being hunted.” Hiccup. Hiccup!
“Neither do I.” And damn it, he’d do everything in his power to find the shooter, for there had to be a connection.
There had to be.