“Have you ever gone when itwasn’trequired of you?” she asked.
A muscle leapt in his jaw. “That is a very personal question, Miss Thorncroft.”
“We’re practically sitting on each other’s laps in a carriage bound for a place that you have described as lascivious and carnal,” she pointed out. “How much more personal could we possibly get?”
Finally, he glanced at her.
And the blaze of heat in his amber eyes took her breath away.
“Oh, I can think of several ways,” he said in a husky tone she’d never heard him use.
Close, she thought with a vague stirring of alarm as he shifted his weight and his thigh brushed against her knee. They were too close. Or maybe they weren’t close enough. Either way, she had the sudden and distinct impression that she would have been much wiser to maintain her silence.
As her pulse skittered like an autumn leaf blown across the ground and her palms grew slick with sweat inside her plain suede gloves, Joanna was startled to realize that she was nervous. No one—man or woman—had ever made hernervous.
It was a strange feeling, and she didn’t like it.
But shedidlike Kincaid.
What a vexing dilemma to find herself in.
“If you wish to kiss me,” she said breathlessly, “you have my permission.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, where it lingered for the span of three heartbeats. A small eternity in the timespan of desire. Something flashed in his eyes—regret?—before he lifted his head and scowled at her. “You forget your place, Miss Thorncroft. You are my secretary. You are also my client. Any relationship of a physical nature would only serve to complicate things.”
He was right, of course.
Sheknewhe was right.
Unfortunately, that did nothing to quell her disappointment. Or the nagging suspicion that even though Kincaid seemed to distance himself from everyone, he loathedherin particular.
Had she done something to offend him? Maybe she’d been too presumptuous when she had all but forced him to take her to the theater. Kincaid did not seem like the sort of man who enjoyed being told what to do. Despite that, he had still been at the boarding house to collect her at precisely half-past seven. Now, they were on their way to rescue Evie from an ill-mannered rogue at London’s premiere pleasure garden. Ifthatwasn’t complicated, she didn’t know what was.
On a sigh, Joanna turned her attention to the passing scenery as Kincaid returned to staring straight ahead. Like two ships passing in the night, they did not acknowledge each other until the cab slowed, then turned down a dirt lane that brought them to an enormous, black, wrought iron gate with a coat of arms above and a towering stone wall on either side.
From within the expansive gardens came the unmistakable sounds of music and laughter. Old-fashioned torchlight revealed a large brick pathway that branched off into smaller walking trails guarded by shrubbery. Most of the light and noise seemed concentrated in the middle of the park, where Joanna could just make out a large pavilion through the trees.
The air smelled of honeysuckle and sinful decadence.
After paying the driver, Kincaid exited the carriage and then offered his arm to Joanna. Placing her small hand in his larger one, she joined him on the ground in a graceful swirl of skirts. Her eyes widened when the gate swung inward, beckoning them into the gardens like a lover coaxing his mistress into bed.
“Stay close to me,” Kincaid warned, his grip tightening as they slipped beneath the coat of arms and into a world unlike anything Joanna had ever witnessed.
Amidst the sin and the starlight, there were couples everywhere.
Strolling arm in arm down the paths. Standing in clusters in the shadows. Sprawled across wooden benches.
Some were talking. Some were kissing. And some were…
“Are they, er…fornicating?” Joanna hissed, staring in scandalized fascination at a partially naked man and woman lounging against a tree. The man’s trousers were bunched at his knees as he lazily moved his hips back and forth. As Joanna watched, the woman lifted her lips from her partner’s neck and winked.
“Come on,” Kincaid growled, dragging her past. “We’re here to find your sister, not partake in an orgy.”
“Are you sure that was an orgy?” Her brow creased as she slowed her step. “I was always under the impression it required at least four participants.”
“Miss Thorncroft…” he said between clenched teeth.
“All right, all right. I was just trying toclarify.” Increasing her stride length to match his, she stayed close to his side as they drew nearer to the center of the gardens where the lights were brighter and the music was almost loud enough to drown out the gasps and moans coming from the bushes.
