Chapter Twenty-One
With a contented sigh, Franny stretched her arms toward the headboard and her legs toward the footboard.
If it weren’t for her gurgling stomach reacting to the aroma of bacon, she might stay in bed all day.
Blast her stringent training diet all the way to hell.
Currently, she’d prefer fried pork to training.
Now that her blood was pumping, she reached over the counterpane intending to shake Edward awake. Instead, she found cold, empty sheets. Perhaps this was for the best since she was a dolt in his presence.
Her behavior last night had been atrocious, so from now on, she would not allow her physical desires to dictate her actions.
At least she’d behaved after she dragged Edward to bed.
Of that, she could be proud. Oh, she’d ached for him to wrap his arms around her and teach her how to make love.
After their kisses, she would have been an enthusiastic and eager pupil.
But he’d not been himself. He was so exhausted he’d barely been able to keep his eyes open, and he’d been uncharacteristically grumpy.
Hopefully, he had gotten a solid night’s rest. She had slept like the dead and was better for it.
Her resolve was again firm, and in the light of day, and without his presence befuddling her, she knew that a carnal relationship was out of the question.
She crawled from beneath the blankets and regarded Edward’s room in the soft morning light.
Not only was his bed comfortable, but it was also massive.
Someone had taken time to hand-paint a festooning vine of copper and peach flowers on the dark green walls.
She’d wager the apple-cheeked, humming Mrs. Benson.
Franny stood on her tiptoes to look at her reflection in the mirror above Edward’s dresser. Ghastly! She could barely find her face in the disaster of red knots.
She pulled her dress over her head and slid into her slippers. Hopefully, Edward wouldn’t mind if she borrowed his comb. After about five minutes of fighting with her rat’s nest, she gave up.
Feeling hideously disheveled, she followed the scent of food and coffee to Edward’s orderly kitchen.
Edward sat at the table, studying a page in his notebook.
An empty plate and a full cup were pushed to the side.
He looked up at her and smiled, and for a moment she considered abandoning her plan to behave like the virgin she was.
But what was a woman to do when he was masculine perfection, and unlike her, he appeared well-groomed?
“How are you feeling?” she asked since the poor man had taken quite a beating last night.
“Like I was run over by a carriage.” He chuckled. “Seriously, I’ve survived far worse. Mrs. Benson was here earlier. Help yourself.” He pointed the pencil in his hand at the food on the counter.
Behaving like a starving guttersnipe who didn’t have to get into a boxing ring in a few weeks, Franny piled eggs, bacon, and honey cakes onto her plate. Better to satisfy her appetite for food than her all-consuming ache for carnal knowledge. She poured a large cup of coffee and sat beside Edward.
“How did you sleep?” he asked. Thankfully, he seemed in much better spirits than the previous evening.
“Exceedingly well,” she said. “Your mattress is as soft as a cloud.” She might like to sleep in his bed every night. Actually, she might like to do other indecent things on that puffy mattress. Egad! She needed to pull her head out of her arse. She gulped her coffee and burned her tongue.
“Careful, that is hot,” Edward said as she schooled her wince. “We have another busy day ahead of us.” He pushed the notebook toward her. “Our suspects and errands.”
As Franny forked eggs into her mouth, she skimmed Edward’s notes. Hopefully, the suspects weren’t in order because Vicar Williams was at the bottom of the list.
“Bear, Whale, and the crew at The Purple Rabbit are first,” she said. “You have Lancelot and his gang next. Why is that?”
“They are not in any particular order. My instincts tell me Bear is more interested in having you as a fighter than destroying your saloon.”
At the mere mention of fighting for Bear, her belly tumbled. She had no choice but to fight her anxiety because, as terrified as she was to compete, she couldn’t go back on her word. Instead, she must latch onto the tiny part of her that missed the challenges mills afforded.
“Do you think the Knights are responsible?” she asked.
“I think the Knights have something to do with Lady Milton’s stolen jewelry. And I have no doubt, if they had caught us last night, we would not be breathing this morning.”
Again, her belly flipped.
“They are exceedingly disreputable,” he said.
“But you don’t believe either group is responsible for the fire and harming Harry and my father, do you?”
“Bear has an interest in you. But is that motivation enough to cause harm and damage?”
She rubbed at the ball of acid in her throat. “I don’t understand why anyone wants to hurt us.”
Edward didn’t immediately respond because he was pouring himself a cup of coffee. Eventually, full cup in hand, he leaned against the counter, his relaxed pose reigniting Franny’s attraction to him.
“Many men are afraid of powerful women,” he said. “You are challenging the status quo.”
No matter how many times she heard this, she struggled to grasp how cruel and vindictive people could be.
“I’m going to request the magistrate send a few armed officers to The Round Table with a warrant. If we find what I think we will, we can arrest Lancelot and his men.”
She tapped on Lord Whitehill’s name. “Lord Griffendale, Lord Davenport, and Nicolas do not favor this man.”
Edward leaned over her and peered down at the list. “He is the person who has the most motivation to do you harm. It sounds as if he intends to silence anyone encouraging female equality.”
“If there is a Lady Whitehill, she needs a firm talking to,” Franny said.
Edward raised a brow and chuckled. “Our first stop this morning will be at Greenpark House to check on Harry and your father. While there, I will ask Lord Davenport to facilitate an introduction to Lord Whitehill. I suspect a friendly tête-à-tête will go over better than a lawman forcing his way in and making accusations.”
Recalling her image in the mirror, Franny balked. “Mayhap I should stop home and change clothing.” While she was at it, she would don stays and a fresh chemise. And tooth polish was a must.
“Of course,” Edward said. “We will do that first instead.”
“Are we going to confront Vicar Williams again?” she asked.
Edward frowned. “I’m still concerned about the younger Mrs. Brown’s safety. So, yes. I will suggest that the Wentworths stay at The Silk Knuckles again. You can stay here.”
Of that, she was glad, for she did so like his big, soft bed. Perhaps she should pack a bag. Staring at the honey cakes, she sighed. Stupid training diet. However, she could give herself a few hours to adjust to her new regiment.
A faint smile played across his lips as he watched her wrap her cake in a serviette.
“We should be on our way,” she said. “We have much to do.” Not to mention, she needed to fit in a training session before bedtime. She held up her wrapped cake. “I shall eat this on the way.”
“Pack one or two for me, please.” Edward squatted to shower the meowing Zigzag with affection.
Franny swallowed. What she wouldn’t do to have those strong hands caressing her.
*
The morning and early afternoon had been a whirlwind of activity and, unfortunately, mixed news.
On the positive side, Papa seemed much improved, and Lady Davenport had miraculously convinced him to continue staying with her.
Then there was the negative; Harry’s blistered skin broke Franny’s heart, and his forced smiles did not hide his pain.
Next, she’d anxiously waited in a carriage as Edward made his request to the magistrate.
The second he entered the vehicle, she’d practically leaped upon him, asking questions.
He avoided saying anything other than, “Everything is arranged for this evening,” and “No, Franny, I’m sorry but you can’t go with us.
’Tis official magistrate business.” Earlier that morning, she thought she’d be content never to enter The Round Table again, but since she was now denied entry, she wanted nothing more than to barge into the tavern, her fists ready to pound.
She had folded her arms across her chest and glared at Edward. Not that it did her any good. All her temper garnered her were sore muscles from clenching her jaw.
It was late afternoon when she and Edward climbed into Lord Davenport’s fancy carriage.
“Where are Nicolas and Lord Griffendale?” Franny asked since she had assumed they would be joining them.
“I decided that Griffendale and Wentworth should stay away for now,” the viscount said.
“Whitehill does not favor the two of them. As you know, he and Griffendale are in a heated political war, and he thinks Wentworth ‘capitulated to his temperamental wife.’ His words, not mine. I’d never say such a horrible thing about Josephine.
I’m quite fond of my bollocks.” Lord Davenport grinned.
“Of course, Whitehill adores me. I dare say, everyone adores me.” He winked at Franny.
She chuckled.
Edward’s low moan might have been easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention.
However, Franny was aware of his every breath.
If he was jealous, he need not be. Lord Davenport was an incurable flirt.
And yet, Franny had never found it in her heart to dislike him because he had proven time and time again that he was a loyal friend to those he cared about.
Despite her favorable sentiment, Franny was not naive.
His likability did not negate how unexpectedly dangerous Jonathan Davenport was.
She harbored no doubts. The viscount could charm the most stubborn of men into letting him stick a knife in his gut.