Chapter Eighteen
The beast had taken Edward’s pistol. What in the hell was he supposed to tell the magistrate?
“We will get your weapon back,” Franny said as if reading his mind. She pursed her lips. “I’ll wave down a carriage.”
She’d get no argument from him. A ride home sounded heavenly.
The second Edward’s arse hit the squabs, his battered, exhausted muscles relaxed. Franny sat across from him, gnawing on her lip as she regarded him with concern. In the poor lighting, he couldn’t discern whether she was worried about him or fretting over her return to fighting.
“Despite the rough handling, I will be fine,” he said. “Just a few bumps and bruises.” He rubbed the back of his head.
“Thank heavens,” she said. “Because I’m famished.”
Thank heavens was right. A hungry chit was a problem Edward could solve.
“Mrs. Benson cooks a hearty potato and beef stew,” he said, his mouth watering at the thought.
“I wager she baked fresh bread today. We can eat and say hello to Zigzag.” He dare not mention Franny was staying with him.
She would be furious, and he wasn’t in the mood for scowls.
He’d tell her later, when she was too tired to argue.
Franny nervously twisted her hands in her skirt. “Bread and stew sound delicious.”
“But?” Edward asked.
She sat forward. “We should go to The Round Table for our evening meal. This time, I promise not to say something bacon-headed that gets you assaulted.”
Edward suspected Bear’s intel was correct, and if so, even though the Knights might pretend to be a better class of criminals, their establishment of choice was no place for a woman, even one with a set of brass bollocks.
Which begged the question, why had this brazen hoyden’s voice become sugary sweet? He blinked and then strained to focus on her face in the shadows. Thunderation, her lashes were fluttering like gossamer hummingbird wings. And to think, he’d thought her above flirtatious manipulation.
“Absolutely not,” he said. Not because he was sore and miserable; he simply wasn’t going to abandon reason.
“Edward,” she pleaded.
Damnations. She’d said his name. He crossed his arms over his chest to steel himself from her feminine wiles. “ ’Tis much too dangerous.”
“After our harrowing day, wouldn’t a pint be delightful?” the cunning minx asked. “I hear their ale is the finest in London.”
He was indeed craving libations, but drinking at The Round Table was out of the question. “You’ve heard no such thing,” he snapped. “And we are not going to St Giles.” He pursed his lips like an uncompromising father talking to an untruthful child.
“Do you think Lancelot is the same man who tried to sell the stolen jewels to Mr. Wagner?” Franny asked.
That is precisely what he’d been thinking.
Well, that mixed with the sentimental mush he’d experienced when Franny had said, “Just please don’t harm Edward.
” He would do almost anything to hear her say his given name again.
And then there was the thrill he’d felt when Bear suggested he and Franny were tupping.
Even now his cock stirred at the thought.
He pictured Baker’s ugly face, and just like that, his prick rolled over and played dead.
Edward cleared his throat. “Their physical descriptions are the same.” But what were the odds that one of his cases was related to Franny? Maybe after a meal and some sleep, he could make sense of the new information.
“We shall just have a look around, eat something, and drink some ale,” Franny declared as if visiting a nefarious establishment a notorious gang frequented was perfectly logical.
“The tavern will be busy right now. They won’t even know we are there.
We shall keep a low profile, and we don’t have to interact with them.
” She nonchalantly shrugged. “Besides, one should always study the enemy in their natural habitat.”
There was no way she would blend in. One could see her from a street away. Her fire-colored hair was akin to a glowing arrow, and then there was her stunning beauty. He shook his head emphatically.
She leaped from her seat to sit beside him. “Edward, please,” she pleaded as she grasped his hand.
Hot-blooded male that he was, he couldn’t steel himself from her physical touch. Sparks shot from his fingers to his infuriating rod.
“Bloody hell, Franny,” he grumbled. “You aren’t playing fair.”
She squeezed his palm. “Oh, thank you, Edward.”
“I have not said ‘yes’,” he fired back.
“But you will, Edward, because you are as anxious to get to the bottom of this as I am.” She grinned, and his heart thumped against his ribcage.
Her smile might just be worth another beating. Not to mention, they were finally on a first-name basis. He exhaled his acquiescence.
*
Franny was correct. The tavern was crowded, no one seemed to be paying attention to them, and Edward was enjoying the best mug of ale he’d ever drunk.
Perhaps it was the stressful day, or that the drink was delightfully bitter, or that his companion was lovely making the evening so pleasurable.
Although the stew and bread were not as tasty as Mrs. Benson’s, they calmed the gurgling in his stomach and eased his headache.
He pushed his empty bowl to the side, leaned back in his chair, and let out a contented sigh.
He hated to bring this up, but he needed Franny to know she had made an error so that she didn’t do it again.
He cleared his throat. “Franny, I know you met no harm, but you can’t run around accusing men of beating their wives until their victims have protection.”
Franny blinked.
“I only know this because I am a lawman, and I deal with the aftermath of such things. When these abhorrent men are outed, their violence toward those they see as weaker than them multiplies.”
She swallowed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I thought I was standing up for her.”
“I know,” he gently said. “Most people don’t know. It’s difficult to comprehend such maleficence.”
“Will Mrs. Brown come to more harm because of me?”
He would not lay that burden at Franny’s feet. It wasn’t her fault some men were beasts. He sent her a reassuring smile. “Do not fret. I will help her.”
“I have not a doubt,” she said, smiling back.
Her confidence in him, along with her smile, punched him in the chest. Edward hid his own smile with a sip of ale and watched as she scraped the last bite from her bowl and hummed her approval as it slid down her throat.
What he wouldn’t give to watch a few other things slide down her throat, specifically his body parts.
Pushing his ungentlemanly thoughts to the side, he tipped back his mug and swigged.
Franny leaned across the table to whisper, “I don’t see anyone who fits Lancelot’s description.”
Neither had Edward, and against his better judgement, he’d been scanning the crowd since they’d arrived.
“Shall we split up and ask around?” she asked.
“No!” He finished his ale in one large gulp, and then swiped his wrist across his mouth. Her gaze stayed intently fixed on him the entire time. Troublesome woman. “Do you have a death wish?” he asked.
She huffed. “Then what was the point of coming?” She looked away to lift and down half her beer in an impressive chug. Amazing woman.
“Need I remind you that you promised to behave?” Embracing his Frances Valentine impression, Edward raised his voice a few octaves. “I promise not to say something bacon-headed that gets you assaulted. We shall just have a look around, eat something, and drink some ale.”
“I do not sound like that,” she said.
She was correct. Her voice danced along the vocal scale pleasantly. He sounded like someone was yanking his bollocks from his body.
She glared at him. “Cut the shite. You know exactly why I wanted to come here.”
How quickly she’d abandoned her female machinations. Perhaps he should be angry, but how could he be? It was his own bloody fault that he’d succumbed to her charms.
“Yes, and luckily the man we seek doesn’t seem to be here. Now, may we check on Zigzag? She doesn’t like it when I return home late.”
Franny’s brow rose. “Do you leave her home alone a lot?”
More than Edward was comfortable with, but why did Franny care? He pondered her reasons for asking. He highly doubted she was curious about his life.
Unable to contemplate her motivation, he moved on to his next conundrum. It was imperative he lure her to safety.
“Can I tempt you with one of Mrs. Benson’s honey cakes?” he asked.
Seeming to consider his offer, she tapped her finger on the rim of her mug. Tap, tap, tap. Tap. Tap… The insufferable woman beat out an arrhythmic tune that probably confused many an opponent in the ring but was bloody infuriating, since she was stalling.
“Franny, it isn’t that I don’t intend to investigate these men.
” He just planned to do it when she was tucked safely beneath her counterpane.
“You see, I always take my time and think things through before I act. I honestly don’t know what these thieves have to do with your gymnasium, and obviously, we are dealing with dangerous people. I don’t want you injured.”
“Mayhap you overthink things,” she said.
“In my younger days, I didn’t think them over enough.
I had to learn many a lesson the hard way.
” There was the time he’d been so excited that he’d barged into a room on the wrong floor, startling an elderly woman who’d suffered an apoplexy on the spot.
While he was caring for her, the thief got away.
Lesson learned. Now, he double-checked addresses.
Another time, he hadn’t studied his environment ahead of time and was cornered by a bloodthirsty hound. He’d eventually made friends with the animal, who quite enjoyed belly rubs, but not before a scalawag of the worst sort fled onto the London streets to commit a half-dozen more dastardly crimes.
Now, he prepared for his investigations as if he were a surgeon saving a life.
Come to think of it, returning without backup was a fool’s gambit. “I will come back in the daylight and see what I can learn,” he promised.
She continued to tap.
He slid the mug out from beneath her finger, caught her gaze, and held onto it. “I do solve most of my cases,” he assured her.
Emotions warred in her beautiful eyes. Softness beat out the heated fury, and she sighed. “I can be most impatient.”
“As can I, so I’ve worked hard to be less so. An impatient lawman has a short life span.”
She dropped her gaze to stare at the table. “I suppose I don’t want you to die. Yet.”
“Yet?” he asked.
When she looked up, her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Well, we must keep you alive until we figure out who is targeting my business and loved ones.”
“So, you will turn me over to the enemy after that?” he asked.
Feigning that she was seriously considering his question, she tilted her head from side to side. “Fine, mayhap we should keep you alive because I enjoy your company.”
He preened like a cocksure fool.
“Just a teeny tiny bit.” She used her thumb and forefinger to measure a pinch. “ ’Tis such a miniscule amount that you should not flatter yourself.”
He chuckled. “Shall we take our leave?”
Her shoulders slumped. “Fine. But I want at least a dozen honey cakes.”
“You have yourself a deal, Franny,” he said, testing out her name to see if their rules truly had changed. When she didn’t correct him, he celebrated his small triumph with a grin and a trek to the bar, Franny at his heels.
Flashing a coin, Edward caught the tavernkeeper’s attention. “Old chap, do you know a man named Lancelot?”
So much for digging his feet in the sand and telling her no, but the truth was he was as anxious to get to the bottom of this as she was.
He also seemed to be experiencing some type of euphoria from her attentions that made him akin to a brainless sap.
Besides, he wanted her to think highly of him.
Yes, indeed, he was a fool, risking her safety so she would think him courageous and intelligent.
The tavernkeeper’s eyes widened, reminding Edward of precisely how foolish this inquisition was. But now that he’d started, he should finish. He dropped the coin onto the counter and pushed it toward the tavernkeeper.
The man crooked his finger.
Edward leaned forward and tilted his ear so that he could hear over the crowd. “The Knights are quite dangerous. Heed my warning. You should not take a lady to the third floor.”
“The third floor,” Franny said, causing an eight-legged arachnoid kind of panic to crawl up Edward’s spine. In the second it took him to face her, she was already pushing her way through the inebriated crowd.