Fanny chewed her bottom lip, for he exuded power and authority. The lightheartedness she’d had moments ago faded in the face of reality. “I, ah, don’t wish to make a fool of myself or you in front of society due to my limp.” She heaved out a frustrated breath. “It makes dancing… awkward.”
Would he pity her like so many others had before him?
But he merely looked at her with speculation again. She’d give up her grandmother’s hair combs to know what he thought in that moment. “Do you enjoy dancing, though?”
“I did, heartily… before.”
“You still can regardless. Don’t let what people might think of you steal the joy you derive from doing something, even if it’s differently than how others do it.” One of his dark eyebrows rose. “I’ve learned that from my cousin Finn in the short time I’ve come back into his life.”
Was he always so romantic? Fanny’s heart fluttered. His cousin was the Storme brother married to her best friend, Lady Jane. “Right now, I don’t have that much confidence, though I’ve had years to acclimate to my injury.”
“Yet.” He tapped his temple with a forefinger. “The longer you’re around me, the more you’ll be forced to find that confidence in a hurry. I won’t accept anything less, and you’ve got too much determination to let yourself fade into the background.”
That made her smile. “Yet,” she agreed.
William nodded. “Then I’ll sit with you for the space of this dance and the next. We can talk more, and you can start that interview.”
“That’s a fair compromise.” Though her mind jogged to a place where she wasn’t mired in self-conscious dithering, and she could whisk around a ballroom with his arms around her. Would he feel as strong, as protective, as possessive as he looked? A shiver of need went down her spine and she gave into it. Perhaps that was something to look forward to.
“Soon, the whole of London will clamor to know who Miss Francesca Bancroft is.” William offered her his arm, and she put her fingers upon his sleeve.
“I hope you’re right. I’m rubbish about knowing the names and titles of the ton, even though my mother has been trying to drum that information into me from a young age.” When they entered the drawing room, she smiled at the dancers. “But I hope that gathering facts on real articles might be different.”
“It certainly won’t be as boring.” He led her to a grouping of delicate chairs with gilt-painted legs and waited for her to sit before he did so. “For the life of me I don’t know why society is so obsessed with who married who, or who went driving with someone, or where they stopped while out and about.” When he glanced at her, his grin was again in place. “None of that matters a jot, for those are only outward trappings. It’s the heart and soul of a person that should make those pages.”
For a Bow Street Runner—er rather a man working for Bow Street—given to logic and patience, he was certainly quite passionate about the circles in which he moved. “That would certainly make for eye-opening reading. Imagine filling the newspaper pages with the true motives and intentions beneath the facades. Our society would be turned on its head.”
“Yet it would make navigating through society easier for those of us who don’t put stock in positions or wealth.” He shrugged. “I’ve seen the horrors of what life can produce. No matter a man’s status or position, he can kill or be killed with the ease of a pauper on the streets.”
“Is the case you’re currently working properly horrific?” She had no idea principal officers did, but she was anxious to learn.
“Oh, quite. And no, I’m not going into specifics just now. That’s for your ears only.”
Drat.If he were able to anticipate what she’d say next, how could she surprise him and pull honest answers from him during an interview? “Did you mean what you said about me accompanying you on this case?”
“I never say anything I don’t mean.” The hard set of his jaw proved those words. “If you promise not to hinder or impede my investigation.”
“Of course. I hardly know what I’m doing while out in society. What makes you think I have a blessed clue about murder or any other dark deed?”
Another grin curved his mouth, and Fanny was hard pressed not to stare. “Touché.” A companionable silence grew between them. Then William shifted slightly, and his knee briefly touched hers. Heat coursed up her leg from the point of impact. “Did you mean what you said when you accepted my offer of a courtship?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” Well, drat. Why was she suddenly breathless and her heart pounding so hard?
“And you’ll give me the same opportunities and advantages you offer the viscount?”
Then did that mean he was all too serious about entering into a relationship with her, above and beyond pleasing his mother? “Absolutely I will. Already you’ve shown you’re more cognizant of my needs than Lord Wainwright.”
“Good.”
Fanny sucked in a breath. “Don’t make it obvious, but my mother is looking at us from across the room. She’s the one in the rust-colored gown.” Her pulse thudded loud in her ears, for her mother would surely question her about being in a man’s company that wasn’t the viscount.
“Shall I go over and introduce myself?” Though it appeared he looked at Fanny, he played his eye to the side. How much could he actually see? There were so many tricks a Bow Street Runner had that she wanted to know about.
“You might as well. It would ease any awkwardness when you come ’round to the house.” On shaky legs, she stood, determined to take him to her parent. “Drat. She’s coming this way.” Beside her, William rose to his feet. He tugged on the bottom of his silver waistcoat.
“Show no fear, Francesca. First rule.”
Then her mother was upon them. “I had assumed you’d be in Lord Wainwright’s company all night, Fanny,” was her opening salvo, as she unabashedly looked William over.