“Thankyou,” Claudette replied as she led them to the door and waved farewell.
Chapter Twenty-One
“You look likeshite,” Sterling commented as Kincaid climbed into the duke’s carriage. With a crack of the whip and a slap of the reins, the glossy black town coach lurched forward, headed for Beresford Manor in the middle of Grosvenor Square.
“This isyourtailcoat,” Kincaid reminded his so-called friend as he tugged at his sleeve.
“Aye, and you look like shite in it.”
“Sod off.” While he was not lacking for clothing, Kincaid did not have the formal attire required of such a prestigious event as the Countess of Beresford’s ball. Sterling had sent his tailor over in the later afternoon to dress him accordingly. The sizes of the two men were similar enough that only a few lines had needed to be adjusted. When the tailor was finished, Kincaid had glanced at himself in the mirror and was startled to see a nabob staring back.
He hated that his first thought had been of Joanna. Of what she would think of his appearance, and if she would prefer his regular attire to being trussed up like a damned penguin. He hated it not because he didn’twantto think about her.
But because he did not deserve to.
After the way he’d ended things between them…after the hurt he’d seen in those beautiful, blue eyes…he didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as she did.
Joanna had given him her heart to care for.
And he’d returned it to her in pieces.
Just as Lavinia had done to him.
In the carriage’s inky interior, Sterling’s teeth flashed white. “Had a row with your American, did you? Either that, or one of those flea-infested felines you insist on keeping in your house died.”
The duke’s abhorrence for any animal smaller than a horse was well known. Normally, Kincaid found his friend’s aversion amusing if only because he knew therealreason Sterling despised cute, fluffy creatures. When he was a child, Sterling had been bitten by his mother’s terrier in a very…sensitivearea. Since then, he had developed an innate distrust for any tiny creature with teeth.
But this time, Kincaid didn’t chuckle.
He didn’t even crack a smile.
“My cats are well, and Miss Thorncroft and I did not have arow.” He stared out the window. “I chose to end our…partnership.”
“Why the devil would you do that?” Sterling asked.
“If tonight goes according to plan, Miss Thorncroft’s ring will be in my possession by the end of the evening and both she and her sister can depart on the next ship bound for Boston.”
Little more than a week ago, those very words had brought him a sense of relief.
Find the ring, give it to Joanna, and send her back to where she’d come from.
But tonight, he felt nothing but despair…and doubt.
“That’s the bloodiest stupid idea I’ve ever heard,” Sterling said with a snort. “Should I tell you why?”
“No,” Kincaid said unequivocally.
“First, because it’s obvious you’re in love with the chit. And second, because the Earl of Hawkridge is the meanest, most frigid bastard I’ve ever met in my life. You’ve a better chance of winning a derby race with a damned donkey than getting him to give you that ring.”
Kincaid’s gaze flew away from the window. “How the hell do you know about the Earl of Hawkridge and his connection to Joanna?”
“Whodoesn’tknow?” Removing a silver flask from his pocket, Sterling took a sip and offered it to Kincaid, who declined with a curt shake of his head. “You’re aware of how fast gossip travels once it’s let out of the bottle. I’m a bit annoyed I didn’t figure it out myself. JW. Jason Weston. ’Tis obvious now, isn’t it? All of it happened before my time, naturally, but I’ve heard whispers over the years about the Marquess of Dorchester and his American mistress. No idea they ever had a child, though. Or that that child was your client.” Grinning, Sterling nudged Kincaid in the side. “You sly dog. Going after the granddaughter of a duke. Smart on you.”
“I didn’tgo afterthe granddaughter of a duke,” Kincaid scowled. “I didn’t know who she was when I—”
“Fell in love with her?” Sterling finished when Kincaid stopped himself short. “It’s all right, old chap. Happens to the best of us. I must say, all this chatter about your American has done me a great service. Haven’t had a single person look at me as if I were a crazed murderer in at least a day.”
“Congratulations,” Kincaid said bitterly.
