Had she ever looked so, so… angelic? Her gown of cerulean blue reminded him of cloudless blue skies from his childhood when his family had spent the summers at Hadleigh Hall. With her every movement, clear glass beads and tiny silver spangles sparkled along the low bodice as well as the hem of the gown. Square-cut aquamarine stones glittered at her throat, and the matching earbobs called his attention to the rounded curve of her cheek, the graceful column of her neck.
As he stared, his heart gave a mighty leap as if it had been restarted somehow. When she unfurled the fan he’d given her, that organ squeezed and pumped hope into his veins, sending new life into him. Suddenly, everything wasn’t nearly as glum as he’d initially thought, and all because Francesca Bancroft had brought sunshine into the room to dispel the darkness outside the windows.
Then her parents guided her through the crowd to speak with a few people on the opposite side of the ballroom. She followed more slowly due to her limp, and he wanted nothing more than to lope over there and brush his lips along the satiny skin at her nape, bury his fingers into her upswept chestnut hair and kiss her in front of the whole ton.
“Do have a care, Cousin,” Andrew drawled and gently took the champagne flute from William’s hand. “You’re dripping on the floor.”
“My apologies.” With a shake of his head, William concentrated on his cousin. “I was momentarily distracted.”
“So I could surmise.” Amusement thread through his voice. He set the flute on a nearby chair.
“Where is your countess this evening?” Another glance through the ever-increasing crowds didn’t show Sarah.
“Somewhere about.” Andrew waved a hand, presumably to encompass the ballroom.
Then, the crush on the floor shifted as the first notes of the five-piece string quintet erupted into the room. They were preparing to play a country reel. Francesca came into his line of vision, and he once more caught his breath. She seemed as if lit from within. What had made her so exquisitely happy?
Was he vain enough to think it might be him?
Andrew cleared his throat. “By the by, you’re nearly tip over tail for her, you know.”
That brought him back into the conversation with the force of a crash. “Rubbish. We’re acquaintances. Partners in my investigation. Friends, perhaps.”
“Ah. I see.”
Heat crept up the back of William’s neck as he once again looked across the room to her location. Friends who had coupled twice now, and she’d all but declared herself to him yesterday after taking care of him when the nature of his position had gotten beneath his skin.
“You and Miss Bancroft share a connection,” Andrew continued in a conversational, non-threatening tone.
William frowned, for Lord Wainwright approached her. When she turned to address the viscount, a scowl accompanied whatever words she said. From his wild hand gestures as well as hers, they held a fast-paced, whispered argument that wouldn’t probably end well for the viscount. Too damned bad they were too far away to eavesdrop, so he attended his cousin. “A connection? Perhaps. But I’ve also helped her to find her confidence and her wings.” His heart squeezed as the viscount’s cheeks reddened. Did she need assistance? “I merely wish her to find happiness, and if she’s not that with me, then so be it.”
“You’re a nodcock, Wills.”
The childhood nickname tugged a grin from him. “Perhaps I am. I’ve certainly felt it over the last two weeks.”
“Because of her?”
He shrugged. “Who can say definitively? I’m also struggling with these apparently unsolvable cases. The answer is there, but I can’t pull it forth from my mind.”
“You’ve let the woman distract you from that purpose. And it’s never happened before, so you’re out of sorts with yourself.” Andrew snickered. Amusement danced in his stormy eyes. “I’d say it’s about damned time you fell in love.”
William gawked at his cousin. “Are you in the business of matchmaking then, or perhaps sitting in Cupid’s court? Why the sudden interest in my romantic life?” He didn’t mention the fact that perhaps he had gone and fallen all the way down that slippery slope. If he spoke those words aloud, would they prove him a fool?
“Of course not, but you’re my cousin, recently come back into my life, and I want to see you happy and thriving.” He laid a hand on William’s shoulder. “If I’ve learned anything this past year, it’s that you have to fight for what you want. Regardless of the obstacles in your path.” Andrew’s eyes bored into his. “Even the imagined ones. You’re throwing out your position at Bow Street as a blockade, using it as a shield so your heart won’t be hurt.”
That truth was difficult to swallow, and it mirrored much of what he’d accused Francesca of doing with her limp. Yes, they were both broken, but together, they were amazing. “Being an inspector hurts less and never disappoints me,” he admitted in a low voice.
“Now that’s gammon.” Andrew snorted and shook William’s shoulder. “If you’ll be honest, the job is disappointing you now.”
“Perhaps.” He again sent his gaze across the room. The country reel had begun. Couples filled the floor, breaking apart and coming back together whenever the steps demanded. Francesca still held an animated conversation with Lord Wainwright, but from the looks of things, she held her own, for the viscount’s shoulders had drooped and his posture seemed beaten. He returned his gaze to Andrew. “How do I know for certain she’s who I need? I was content with my lot before she came.”
Andrew threw his head back and laughed. “As were we all, before our very own storms came to disrupt—or guide—our paths.” He wiped at his streaming eyes. “But I can tell you this. When Sarah came into my life, I fought against that match so hard. It wasn’t easy at first. There was much adjusting to do on my part as well as hers. Once I fell in love with her everything changed… for the better.”
“Can it be that simple?” William frowned. When he looked her away again, both she and the viscount were gone. Had they left together? An acute ache went through his heart, and he put a hand on his chest over that organ. Have I lost her?
“It is.” The sound of Andrew’s voice recalled his attention. Compassion clouded his eyes. “You love Miss Bancroft. Any fool can see that, so go after her.”
“She’s more or less told me of her feelings.” Unless he’d been terribly wrong in his interpretation.