Shadows jumped into the man’s face, but he nodded and carefully laid down the hand of cards he held. “I’ll return momentarily, boys.” As soon as he stood, William led him a few feet away from the table. “What is so urgent you thought to interrupt me at my club? And so help me, if this is another accusation about those murders, I will file a suit of libel against you.”
William rolled his eyes at the threat. “Calm yourself, Wainwright. This has nothing to do with that.” He looked at the younger man with contempt. God, he was an arse and not fit to wipe Francesca’s feet, but he had a title and would, perhaps, offer a more stable future. “Do you plan on asking for Miss Bancroft’s hand?”
“I am. Her father’s just come into a fortune, which means a larger dowry, so I’d be a nodcock not to.” He shrugged, and his grin was so smug, William wanted to knock it from his face. “Besides, she’s much saner than other women I’ve met recently.”
What the hell?William frowned. “How do you mean?”
“A woman I’d danced with at some event or another, turned extremely possessive of me after one damned set. She wouldn’t let me talk or dance with anyone else, as if she owned me.” He shrugged. “Said men who case skirts deserved evisceration as a reward for playing with a woman’s affections.”
Oh, dear God.A chill went down William’s spine. Those words hit too close to home in his cases. “Who was she? I need a name.”
“Hell if I remember.” He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I haven’t exactly been chaste, if you get my meaning. And that one I wished to forget post-haste.”
He curled one hand into a fist. “Yet you intend to ask for Miss Bancroft’s hand.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course I do. She’s desperate, and those are the best sorts of females, especially when I need the coin and would rather do the duty to my title now so I can play later. Besides, Miss Bancroft has a figure enough to make a man forget about her unfortunate limp. Bedding her should provide a thrill for a while.”
Rage coursed through him, bringing with it a return to the red veil over his eyes. He shot out a hand, fisting his fingers into the viscount’s cravat, squeezing. “You make certain that you wed her for love, you damned idiot. Coin runs out as does lust, but she deserves happiness, a good life with an honorable man at her side. She’s special.” The warning growl in his voice was evident in his voice.
“That may be so, but obviously she hasn’t chosen you, so you have no right to oversee her care or her future.” He laughed, for he must have read the truth in William’s eyes. “You’ve lost the game. I’ll do what I want once she’s mine.”
William uttered a cry of rage. “You wed that woman for love or not at all. Do you understand?” He shook the man. “And if you hurt her, I will come after you.” Then because he hadn’t yet vented the whole of his spleen, he released his hold on the viscount only to land him a facer hard enough to break the man’s nose and topple him to the floor.
When his friends at the table stood with cries of protest, William took his leave, more out of sorts than he was before. How the devil could he let this bounder take her as his wife? Yet the viscount would, at least, have courage enough to decide. William might be falling for her, but he had nothing to offer except himself and the ghosts of the victims he worked to give justice to. Wainwright could take care of her, give her a title and position, perhaps chubby babies, and she would be safe from the horrors of the world, but she wouldn’t have his love.
What was the lesser of two evils?