“But you wouldn’tseriously consider it,” Evie said with a tittering laugh.
Joanna sat up. “Why not?”
“Because he isn’t even titled.”
“Neither is Charles Gaines.”
“Yes, but titles don’t matter in America.”
“I am not going to be in England forever.”
“You will if you marry an Englishman.”
“What about an affair, then?” Joanna asked.
Evie stared at her. “Now Iknowyou’re jesting.”
As a flicker of excitement stirred within her breast, Joanna stood up and began to pace the room. “What if I wasn’t? Kincaid may not be acknowledging it at the moment, but there is an undeniable spark of attraction between us.”To put it mildly.“Affairs are very common in this day and age.” As the idea took root, her excitement grew. “We would be discreet.”
“Absolutely not!” Evie cried.
Joanna stopped in front of the window. “Why?”
“Should I list the reasons? Fine.” Extending her arm, Evie began tick off her fingers one by one. “You will ruin your reputation.”
“Only if we’re caught.”
“You’ll ruin yourself for marriage!”
“That is an antiquated notion based on the idea that virginity holds some sort of monetary value,” Joanna said dismissively. “I should think a husband would prefer his wife to have a little experience.”
Evie threw up her hands. “There’s no reasoning with you.”
“Because you do not have a valid counterargument.”
“You need to learn to curb your impulsivity.” A black curl slid across Evie’s temple as she shook her head in exasperation. “It always leads to nothing but trouble.”
Joanna leaned against the sill and set her jaw. “I’m not impulsive.”
“Not impulsive?” said Evie incredulously. “Youwere the one who wanted to sell Mother’s ring instead of marrying someone who was perfectly practical in every way. Then you dragged us halfway across the world on a moment’s notice! You’re constantly throwing yourself into situations without thinking of the consequences, and Kincaid is no different. How could you possibly eventhinkof having an affair? Let alone an affair with a complete stranger!”
“Kincaid isn’t a stranger.” Joanna may not have known his secrets. But shedidknow the taste of his mouth. The feel of his hand skimming across her bare flesh. The weight of his body pressing against hers. “And Charles may have been suitable, but he wasn’t suitable forme.”
“And a detective is?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “But I think I’d like to find out.”
*
The Pickled Pigwas dark, dingy, and reeked of cheap ale and piss. In short, it was the perfect meeting place for a man who didn’t want to be noticed. Which the Duke of Hanover most decidedly did not.
Sterling entered the pub with his hat pulled low over his brow and a stern frown bracketing the edges of his mouth. Waving off a whore’s lewd attempt at solicitation, he quickly located who he was meeting at a table in the corner blanketed by shadows.
“Bloody hell,” he complained as he took off his coat and sank down into a wooden chair that was stained with beer and God only knew what else. “It stinks in here.”
Kincaid looked up from the potato stew he’d been mindlessly shoveling into his mouth. “You said you needed somewhere discreet.”
“The Ivy Bridge in Hyde Park is discreet. Cremorne Gardens after dark is discreet.” Sterling watched dubiously as a barmaid carrying ale to a nearby table paused, tilted the pitcher to her lips, and took a long drink. “This is unsanitary.”
