“There you go.” When William hesitated, his cousin continued in a lower voice. “Besides, don’t you owe it to her to marry her? After what the two of you did in my study that day?”
This time heat flooded his entire body. “You knew?” Of course, he’d assumed that his cousin knew, but this was confirmation.
“Good Lord, I’m not an idiot.” Andrew shook his head, but his grin was wide. “I saw enough signs. Didn’t say anything at the time, for I wanted to see if you’d figure it out on your own.”
“I guess I did… or am coming to do so.” William couldn’t help his own grin. “She is rather spectacular and distracting in the most surprising ways.” The afternoon she’d taken him in her mouth immediately sprang to mind, and he stifled a groan of appreciation. Most assuredly he wished to explore that further.
“Spare me the details.” Andrew held up a hand. “Promise me you won’t cock this up, Wills. With my brothers so besotted with their wives, I’ll need another level-headed man about who can converse on things beyond the women.”
It was William’s turn to laugh. “I’ll try my level best to live up to your expectations… and hers.” Doubts crept in threatening to steal his newfound joy. “I don’t have a title, nor a fortune, nor anything really to recommend myself.”
“It matters not, especially to her,” his cousin murmured and stood aside, for Francesca was nearly upon them. “She’s determined, that one, and if you’re lucky, she’ll manage you with a splendid hand.”
Then there was no more time to talk, for she was there… but so was Lord Wainwright, who rushed over to their gathering with a thunderstorm brewing in his expression.
“How dare you, Inspector Storme!” Though the viscount kept his voice low, a few couples in the vicinity turned to watch the unfolding drama. “You stole Miss Bancroft away when you knew I’d intended to ask for her hand.”
“Good evening, Wainwright,” Andrew said, cutting into what would probably turn into an angry diatribe. “The last time I consulted a calendar, I discovered that it was no longer the Middle Ages and that women do have a choice in whom they wish to wed.”
William’s eyebrows soared while Francesca openly gawked. What would the viscount do now that he’d been subtly called out by an earl? “If you must know, I didn’t steal anyone. If Miss Bancroft has made a choice, that was her decision. I didn’t force her hand. Perhaps the better man won.” He echoed the words she’d used during that musicale evening that seemed so long ago. “However, I’ve spent enough time with her to discover the woman she is. It saddens me you didn’t do the same.”
Her eyes sparkled as if she were having the best fun. “That’s quite true, Lord Wainwright. Though you’ve both courted me, I’ve made my choice. Please accept it with grace, for I won’t change my mind.”
Though there was still much to work out between them, William couldn’t contain his smile. “Thank you for the confidence, Miss Bancroft.”
“I ought to call you out.” The viscount darted out a fist that caught William on the chin. Unexpected, the momentum of the blow sent him reeling backward. As pain radiated into his jaw, he tensed to return the punch, but Francesca grabbed his arm and held him steady.
“Don’t stoop to his level. He’s merely out of sorts because he’ll not have my dowry, and he’s apparently already spent that coin.” She tugged William away from the seething viscount. “Truly, he’s not worth it. You’ve won. Leave it at that.”
The words were a soothing balm. The added victory rushed through his chest as he nodded. “Only because you wish it. Else I’d have cleaned his clock.”
Andrew latched onto Lord Wainwright’s arm. “Perhaps you’d do well to collect yourself in one of the card rooms. Or better yet, outside in the garden for some fresh air. A true gentleman never starts a fist fight while in mixed company or a ballroom,” he said as he guided the sputtering lord along the perimeter of the room and then out the door.
No doubt the viscount would receive a dressing down for his behavior, and it would give Andrew something to do since he’d managed to control his ire since he’d married.
Shaken but all-too cocksure, William looked at Francesca. “Did you mean what you said just then?”
“I believe I meant it when I told you yesterday, but you were in no frame of mind to receive it,” she replied with a raised eyebrow. “So I had to repeat myself tonight.”
What was this sensation prickling through him? Happiness? Love? He grinned, opened his mouth to respond, but then couldn’t find words appropriate for the occasion. She’d chosen him. After these long two weeks, after everything they’d been through, after seeing him at one of his lowest points, she’d still picked him.
She wants me.
It was incredible.
Uttering an unladylike snort, Francesca gently tugged on his sleeve. “Perhaps you’ll find your voice on the dance floor. They’re preparing for the first waltz of the evening.”
Another bolt of shock stabbed through him. “You wish to dance? With me?”
She made a show of looking about them. “I don’t see another man here, do you?”
“I mean, you want to dance even with your limp? You’ve always maintained your abhorrence for making a scene, and I’ve respected those wishes.”
“I know you have. It’s one of the reasons I fell for you, so now, I’m returning the favor and asking you, Inspector, if you’d share this waltz with me? Damn anyone who throws scowls our way.” In a quieter voice, she added, “Or damn me for caring what they think. I can be no one other than who I am.”
Was there any wonder why he loved her? For yes, there was no use in denying the fact or trying to hide it from himself. He loved this woman, and despite the odds, he would do everything in his power to keep her. “I’d be delighted, Miss Bancroft.” Then he offered her his bent elbow. “Shall we?”
No matter what happened when they both came to their senses and set out to discuss the future properly, he’d found perfection in this night.