She didn’t mind at all.
The Duke of Telford had repulsed her from the very first word he’d spoken. Even before his mouth turned cruel and his grip turned demanding, she hadn’t trusted him. Her instincts had warned her something was wrong. The very same instincts that told her Thomas Kincaid was right. That hefeltright. That standing here, with him, with moonlight in her hair and a mad fluttering in her heart, was where she was meant to be.
Her lashes skimmed across her cheekbones, disguising her uncertainty…and her hope. She might have crossed the Atlantic to find a ring, but that did not mean it was the only thing of value worth discovering. In Somerville, love had eluded her more times than she cared to acknowledge. And despite Evie’s theory, she refused—refused—to believe it was because she didn’t want to fall in love.
Maybe her heart had just been waiting for the right person.
Never knowing that right person was on the other side of the ocean.
“Are you certain you are all right, Miss Thorncroft?”
Joanna blinked, then raised her gaze. “Yes. I…I am appreciative of the lengths which you employed to ensure my safety, Kincaid. I realize that was not part of our original agreement.”
She’d meant to compliment him but, for some reason, her words only seemed to cause him annoyance. Then again, he was always in such a perpetual state of irritation it was difficult to gauge whether he was scowling because of something she’d said or he was scowling because he was breathing.
“There’s a carriage waiting for us,” he said curtly.
“Wait,” she called out, hurrying to catch up to him when he started to walk away. “What about Evie?”
“She’s not here.”
Bunching her skirts in her fists, Joanna broke into a light jog. “She’s not here?” she repeated, panting slightly as she struggled to keep pace with the detective’s considerably longer stride. “What do you mean?
Kincaid halted with such abruptness that she plowed into the back of him. They both fell forward, and would have continued falling had he not twisted around and wrapped his arms around her.
“I mean,” he snarled, his face an inch from her own as he hauled her upright, “that she left as soon as she saw what kind of place this is. Because, unlike her sister, she issensible.”
“I’m sensible,” Joanna protested.
“You are many things, Miss Thorncroft. Sensible is not one of them.” With that, he released her and stalked through the gate, leaving her to follow after or be left behind.
After a quick glance over her shoulder, she followed him to a different carriage than the shoddy cab they’d arrived in. This one was large, and sleek, and its glossy black surface reflected her pale, tired countenance back at her as she climbed inside and sat across from Kincaid.
He acknowledged her presence with a low grunt, the only sound he made for the entirety of the ride. She couldtellhe was angry at her but, after everything she’d been through over the past hour, she did not have the energy, or the will, to pry the reason out of him.
When they finally reached the boarding house, it was nearly half-past midnight, and she was relieved to see the soft glow of candlelight coming from the room she and Evie were sharing.
“Thank you,” she told Kincaid while she waited for the driver to come round and open the door. “For…for everything. The theater, and coming with me to find my sister, and giving the Duke of Telford what he deserved.”
“It was nothing.”
“It was hardlynothing.” She waited for him to say something else. To sayanythingelse. When he remained cloaked in stubborn silence, she gave a small sigh. “Goodnight, Kincaid. I shall see you at your office in the morning.”
“Miss Thorncroft,” he said after she’d departed the carriage.
“Yes?” She turned towards him expectantly, only to be greeted by a swath of shadows. Just the lower half of his jaw was visible, and it was so rigidly held it was a wonder he could move it enough to form words.
“If I were to ever kiss you, I would not need to ask permission.” With that, the door slammed shut and the carriage rolled away…leaving Joanna to wonder if she wasn’t alone in waiting for love.
Chapter Nine
The ice housewas colder than a witch’s tit. Kincaid’s teeth chattered lightly together as he waited at the mouth of the well for the iceman to return. Somewhere down in that deep, dark chasm there was over four long tons of ice, cut into rough blocks and stacked as high as seven men. Kincaid only needed a pound of it to wrap around the hand he’d plowed into the Duke of Telford’s ugly arse face.
An impulsive bit of violence, that.
The likes of which he hadn’t employed since his days as a peeler.
He had more self-restraint now. More control. Or at least, that’s what he liked to believe. But when he’d stepped into that statue garden and witnessed Telford grabbing Joanna, the last thing he’d felt was in control.
