“How lovely of you to say.” If she weren’t careful, she’d end up melting into a puddle at his feet, for he was rapidly proving himself a man among men with his solicitous bearing and his kindness. “I’ve always thought the name conjured images of faraway places of a lady braver than me, doing things I could only dream of accomplishing.”
His chuckle sent a tiny wave of awareness sailing over her skin. “I’d say you’ve already made a good start by becoming a journalist.”
“Society reporter, remember.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I’m trying my best to gain some sort of independence. And confidence, for I’m usually a big chicken when it comes to having attention directed at me, or being forthright.”
“If you put your mind to it, I have no doubts you’ll succeed.” Finally, the grin that had been teasing his mouth since they’d spoken came to fruition. It was every bit as devastating as it had been at the Christmastide house party.
Trembles played down her spine, and once more her gaze dropped to his lips. “My work is dry and frivolous, shrinking and silly, I know, but it’s a start and a jumping-off point for bigger things.” When she wrenched her focus back to his gaze, that lurking amusement in his eyes warmed her cheeks again. “I think doing this is good for me.”
“I certainly admire your determination. Women who wish to make their mark upon society have my respect.”
“Thank you.” Her thoughts tripped through her brain as if they’d suddenly forgotten how to behave in an orderly fashion. His proximity didn’t help, and he smelled so wonderful! A heady mix of bay, citrus, and spices. She could probably stand there all evening and breathe in those lovely smells. Get hold of yourself, Fanny. “Are you, ah, working any interesting cases currently?”
“It’s difficult to say. A new one landed in my lap prior to coming here, actually, but I can’t talk of it publicly.” Was it her imagination, or did his expression harden slightly? From her prying or the nature of the case?
Then an idea occurred to her that made her gasp with surprise. Did she dare ask? If she didn’t, then her status quo would never change, and shouldn’t a budding reporter throw caution to the wind? Not wishing to see the rejection in his eyes, she dropped her gaze to his cravat. “Would you mind terribly much if I were to interview you about being a Bow Street Runner… William?” How lovely it was to say his name aloud!
“If you wish for that, then you’ll need to learn the art of looking people in the eye, Francesca,” he said in a low voice, and when she raised her gaze to his, he grinned. “It shows confidence, and never let people you’re interviewing know they have the upper hand or that you feel inferior to them.”
“Oh.” The way he said her name and the fact he’d used her real one sent tingles once more down her spine. Such a slippery slope so early in their relationship might prove folly if she didn’t mind herself.
Then interest once more lit his eyes. “You truly wish to write about me? I assumed society mentions were merely blurbs on the comings and goings, of entertainment venues and the like.”
“They are, but I’ll do my level best with you. Perhaps it’ll be the start of moving me out of fripperies and into more serious stories.” Would he think she’d overstepped the bounds of their budding friendship? “At least then I can make my mark on the world.”
“You’re got spirit, I’ll give you that.” He moved them both slightly away from the doorway when foot traffic became too heavy, and someone wheeled in a pianoforte as well as a harp.
A slow, wide grin took possession of his mouth, and she stared. Gaped up at him, really, for he was several inches taller than her five-foot-two height. When she realized he had a tiny scar at the edge of his left eyebrow and another high on his cheekbone on the same side, the need to know why overcame her.
“I believe a partnership between us could work,” he said.
“Oh, thank you!” When she would have bounced with happiness, she suddenly remembered where she was, and that she was a woman grown. “I can’t wait to start.”
“Shall I send you word when I have a break in my schedule for an interview?”
“Yes, or you could agree to let me accompany you on this current case you’re working.” Dear heavens, had she truly said that aloud?
William grunted. Just when he thought he’d refuse, he nodded. “I might be able to make that happen, but on one condition.”
“Anything.”
“If I deem a scene too graphic for you to lay eyes on, you’ll abide by that. And if I feel that at any time you might be in danger, you’ll immediately cease contact with me or the case. Agreed?” His voice had taken on a dangerous edge, one that drew tremors of anticipation through her belly.
“Of course.” She nodded in the event he didn’t understand.
“Oh, and one thing more.” He moved her even farther from the door and lowered his voice. “I’m only granting you this access, both to me and my case, which means I’m giving you the exclusive. It doesn’t mean you can share with colleagues what I say privately to you or run to a competing paper and give them a peek. The moment that happens, our partnership is over—professionally and personally.”
“I understand, and I would never betray your trust like that.” Oh, dear, it was finally happening! She was making her first foray into becoming a serious journalist.
“Good.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. What had he done with his gloves? “And one final thing.”
“Yes?”
“At no time during the investigation or in your article or interview will you refer to me as a Bow Street Runner. The term is quite demeaning and at times derogatory. Men of distinction prefer principal officers unless we’ve attained the rank of inspector.”
“I had no idea but thank you for setting me straight.”
“You’re welcome. It’s a point I’m rather adamant about.” At that moment, opening strains to a country reel filled the drawing room and leaked into their location. “Would you like to dance? I’m feeling rather restless just now.”