If only he knew how lucky he was.
“How long were you a policeman before you became a detective?” Joanna asked.
A shadow darkened Kincaid’s countenance. “Long enough to decide I’d rather work for myself. Miss Thorncroft, let’s begin by reviewing your—”
“What drew you to such a job?” she interrupted. Having never met a detective—crime wasn’t exactly rampant in quiet, sleepy Somerville—she was naturally curious as to why Kincaid had chosen such a dangerous, demanding line of work…and what had made him leave it to become a private investigator.
“Because I wanted to help people,” he said curtly. “Do you have a picture of—”
“Why did you leave the police force?”
Brandy-colored eyes burned into hers. “Miss Thorncroft, I have agreed to take on your case in exchange for your secretarial skills, as unproven as they are. If you wish to begin our agreement by asking prying questions which I’ve no obligation to answer, then I’d just as soon show you the door.”
Well, then.
She’d certainly been put in her place, hadn’t she?
How unfortunate (for Kincaid) that she had no intention of staying there. Still, it wouldn’t do to be sacked on her first day. Especially when she found her employer soveryintriguing.
She liked his spectacles, which gave him an air of propriety. And she liked his scowl, which did not. She also liked the way she had felt when he touched her yesterday. That little sizzlingshockof awareness that had made her breath catch and left her thinking about him long after they’d said goodbye. It made her wonder what it would feel like if he touched her deliberately…and if those proper spectacles would fog with passion when they kissed.
Joanna blinked.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d lusted over a man. Charles and his pink pants hadn’t exactly invoked dreams of desire. On the two occasions shehadgranted him permission to kiss her (ever polite, Charles had always made sure to ask before he attacked her lips with all the fervor of a small Pomeranian yapping at the heels of its master), she’d immediately regretted her decision. But she had an inkling that if Kincaid kissed her, the last thing she’d feel was regret.
“I apologize for my questions,” she said, offering her most contrite smile. “Normally, it is my sister, Evelyn, who is the nosy one. But I must admit I find you utterly fascinating, Kincaid. I hope that is not too forward a thing to say. As we get to know each other, I believe you’ll find I have the bad habit of almost always speaking what’s on my mind.”
His scowl deepened. “I can assure you there is nothing fascinating about me, Miss Thorncroft.”
Oh, Joanna doubted that.
She doubted that very much.
If ever there was a person who was hiding something, it was Kincaid. She’d already told him all of her scandalous secrets. By the time they were through, she was determined to learn his.
One way or another.
“Should we get on with my case?” she asked brightly.
With clear relief, Kincaid nodded. “Indeed. Your case.” He picked up a pen, and briefly consulted his journal. “I’ve already requested the passenger manifest for theQueen Maryand should have a copy by the end of the day.”
Joanna sat up. “That’s brilliant!”
“However—”
“Never a good word,” she mumbled.
“—I doubt very much if the pickpocket we’re searching for will show up on it. He was most likely a stowaway, or used a different name. Which means we know the ring arrived in London when theQueen Marymade port but, after that, we’ve no way to trace it.”
“What about the inscription?” she asked. “And the initials. JW.”
“Yes.” Kincaid tapped the pen against his chin. “I’ve given that a great deal of consideration. I do believe your grandmother’s theory is correct. This was no random robbery. That boy, whoever he is, was dispatched specifically to stealyourring and bring it here. If I were to question every jeweler in Boston and the surrounding area, I should think we’d discover they were paid, and paid handsomely, to send the ring to England should it ever come to be in their possession.”
She slumped in her chair. “Then by the very act of having the ring appraised, we allowed it to be stolen.”
Kincaid put down his and pen and frowned at her. “This is not your fault, Miss Thorncroft. You, and your sisters, are the victims here. Per the inscription on the ring, you are also its rightful owners. Clearly, it was intended as a gift to your mother. It’s also clear that the person who gave your mother that ring, or someone closely associated with them, has gone to great lengths to get it back. My assumption is that they do not wish for your mother’s…relationship…with whomever gave her the ring to come to light.”
“You can call it an affair. It’s all right.” Ignoring the pang in her chest, Joanna gave her best attempt at a lighthearted shrug. “That’s what it was, after all. I suppose I should be grateful the affair happened, for had it not, I would never have been born.”
