Chapter Thirteen
February 27, 1818
William didn’t have the chance to call on Francesca yesterday afternoon as he’d promised, for when he’d reported to Whitehall, Chief Inspector Pryce had given him a dressing down that had left him smarting for quite some time. Now the pressure to solve the outstanding murders had never been higher, for his position hung in the balance. His superior had told that if they weren’t put to bed in the next week, he’d find himself fired without references or letters of introduction.
That had soured his mood considerably, so he’d spent the afternoon conducting interviews and trying to piece together clues. Except, without Francesca’s calming presence or her unique insights, it had been a fruitless endeavor. To say nothing of how much he missed her, especially after that afternoon when they’d shared something beyond the physical. His heart felt different; he felt different, changed somehow, in a way that hadn’t yet revealed itself.
Yet, when he’d driven past her father’s townhouse, he caught her being ushered into Lord Wainwright’s carriage, no doubt on the way to an outing. The slight had burned through his blood. Why the devil was she still giving that man a chance? After what William and she had shared… After their souls had bonded and meshed that afternoon in her drawing room, when she’d wanted to lure him out of the blue devils the latest death had sent him into…
After she’d told him that she needed him in her life just before dropping into sleep.
She’d stolen a piece of his heart at that moment, and he didn’t mind her keeping it safe, yet if she would play at being fickle, where the hell did that leave him? Especially when she’d also let it slip the viscount intended to propose. That tidbit had sent fear skittering down his spine. Would he lose her anyway? Certainly, he couldn’t tell her what was just beginning to be etched onto his heart, for not only was he still confused by those feelings, they would also leave him vulnerable to rejection, and hadn’t his father always said that a man who showed his emotions was weak?
William fully intended to cling to that stance, except there was no denying the fall he currently was on. With every passing day, he slid more fully down that slope of love with her, and devil take them both, he didn’t want anything to stop it.
God, I’m the biggest nodcock in London.
Today, he meant to steal the march on the viscount by calling first, and he hoped to everything holy that she hadn’t accepted an engagement from the man. Duty to his Bow Street position be damned. At times, there were other things more important in life than what one did for his livelihood.
Soon enough, he was shown into the parlor. Too anxious to sit, he opted to pace the floor, staring unseeing at the furnishings done in shades of mauve and green. The noonday sunshine spilled through the windows to create a few anemic rainbows on the Aubusson carpet, and every so often his boots would step into their path. For a few seconds he amused himself with collecting those fleeting rainbows before he resumed pacing.
That’s what Francesca reminded him of, a fleeting rainbow, not often seen but bringing joy whenever it appeared, making all the dreck worth it for that glimpse.
“Inspector Storme.” The sound of her voice had him turning about. “William.” How did she manage to infuse such unadulterated joy into that one word? “I didn’t know you wished to call today, but I’m glad you did.” She came into the room amidst a rustle of sky-blue taffeta.
That ethereal scent of apple blossoms reached his nose. He resisted the urge to sweep her into his arms and make the biggest cake—or arse—of himself. Instead, he took one of her hands and brought it to his lips, kissing the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered… and lingered a few seconds too long before releasing her. “I thought since the day is fine and only moderately chilly that I’d ask if you’d like to go riding with me in Hyde Park.”
Her eyes rounded and fear clouded those arctic depths. “I haven’t ridden since—”
“—since the horse that threw you and your ankle broke.” He nodded. “However, I’d like to help you regain your confidence around horses, to conquer that demon if you will.” And perhaps beat one of his own in the process.
“I…” She twisted her fingers together in front of her. “I don’t know what to say. No one has ever cared enough to see me work through that particular problem before.” The shock in her tones went straight to his heart.
“Someone needs to be the first. Don’t you think?” he asked softly. More than anything, he wanted to see her happy, well-adjusted to her life.
“Did you ride over?”
“I did. Currently, my mount is enjoying a snack in the mews.”
She pressed her lips together, but each time she looked at him, her eyes sparkled as if she enjoyed a secret no one else knew. “Do you mind waiting while I change into a riding habit?”
“I rather think I’ll wait for as long as it takes, Francesca.” Would she discern the words he didn’t say?
A blush stained her ivory cheeks. “I’ll return presently.” She pivoted about so quickly her skirting flared, which showed off a slim ankle and a bit of lace at the hem of her petticoat. Though she fairly ran from the room, her ever-present limp took some of the panache from her exit.
William allowed himself a tight grin. Perhaps she was in just as deep but didn’t know how to voice those emotions the same as him. Surely that meant she wasn’t still seriously considering Wainwright’s suit.
But what if she was?
He pressed a hand to his chest where a sudden, acute ache stabbed through his heart. Then he’d learn how to get on without her. After all, he’d spent the bulk of his adult life alone without the distraction of a woman. He’d continue that tradition until he died, for he wouldn’t stick his neck out for another.
Some thirty minutes later, Francesca returned. Her riding habit of a rich burgundy velvet was no less stunning on her, and for the space of a few heartbeats, he admired her petite figure. Could he possibly spirit her away without causing too much of a scandal?
“Are you certain you’re ready for this?” he asked as she led the way through the townhouse and then eventually into the mews. The sweet scent of straw mingled with the more pungent aroma of excrement.
“Not certain at all, but I’ll try.”
William nodded. The questions he wished to ask her went round and round his mind, but he uttered none of them. She trusted him in this moment, and he refused to break that fragile bond, for putting her onto a horse would no doubt spook her. “If at any time you find you can’t go through with it, cry off. I’ll have you down in a twinkling. We’ll go driving instead.”