“Miss Thorncroft.” His hand left her hip to glide along her cheek. “Joanna.”
“Yes?” she said breathlessly.
“I—”
But once again, they were interrupted. This time by a young maid.
“Mr. Brown said you wanted to speak with me?” the servant asked timidly.
“You’vegotto be jesting,” Joanna muttered as she discreetly adjusted her bodice.
Kincaid’s reaction was a bit more…extreme.
Like a fox who’d been sighted in the hen house, he all but bolted away from her. One second he was there and the next he was at least seven feet across the room, his spectacles askew, his countenance suffused with color, and a noticeable bulge between his thighs.
As she turned away to hide her snicker, she could feel Kincaid glaring at her. A moment of awkward silence, and then he addressed the maid as if there weren’t a raging arousal in his trousers. A testament, Joanna supposed, to his professionalism.
“Yes, I’d like to have a word,” he said. “Miss…?”
“Abigail, sir. Abigail Groshen.” The maid clutched her apron with knotted fists. Her knuckles were as white as the cap on her head, and her face was of a similar pallor, causing her blonde eyebrows to stand out in stark contrast against her milky skin.
“Were you employed for the entirety of Miss Bancroft’s tenure here, Miss Groshen?”
Her gaze darting nervously, Abigail gave the tiniest of nods.
“Good,” Kincaid said sharply. “Then I’ve questions for you.”
With a frightened squeak, the maid took a step in retreat. “F—for me? But I just work in the kitchens, sir.”
“That is a sufficient position for the information I require. Where were you on the night Miss Bancroft was murdered?”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Joanna cut in when Abigail’s eyes grew huge. “Can you not see you’re scaring the poor girl out of her wits?”
Kincaid frowned. “What the devil do you mean?”
Joanna didn’t know whether to laugh or shake her head, so she did both. Kincaid excelled at a wide variety of things, but putting the opposite sex at ease with his charm was certainly not one of them. It was obvious to see why he had been a good policeman and was now a successful private investigator. He was intelligent, level-headed, and intensely focused on whatever task lay in front of him. But that focus often lent itself to a decided lack of emotion and empathy. Whether it was accidental or on purpose, the effect remained the same. Kincaid often came across as hard and cold, but he was more than that. So much more.
Abigail Groshen may not have seen it. How could she, when he was barking demands at her left and right? But Joanna did. More than that, shefeltit. Kincaid might have portrayed himself as a gruff, grumbly bear, but there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if the maid required it, he’d be the first to give her the shirt off his back.
Why he refused to show that side of himself more often, Joanna hadn’t the faintest idea. Maybe he saw it as a weakness. Or maybe he was just exhaustingly stubborn. Whatever the reason, she had no issue in taking it upon herself to soften his rough edges.
“There is no need to fret,” she told the maid kindly. “What my esteemed partnermeantto say is that we just have a few questions, and we’d be very appreciative if you could help us find the answers. We recognize the ability of the household staff to notice and hear things that others might miss. It’s a valuable skill, Miss Groshen, which most do not appreciate. Why don’t we continue this in the parlor? I’m sure it would be much more comfortable.”
“Partner?” Kincaid growled in her ear as Abigail preceded them into the parlor. “What happened to pretending you’re not even here?”
Joanna smirked. “We can discuss my fee later.”
Unlike the foyer, this parlor had furniture, but the walls had been stripped of their paintings, leaving behind large squares of gold and ivory paper that were noticeably lighter than the space surrounding them. It was rather strange that such a fine house in such a fine neighborhood would be all but barren on the inside. Joanna wondered if it was a sign of financial strain. If so, did it have anything to do with Miss Bancroft’s tragic death?
“You should let me question her,” she told Kincaid out of the corner of her mouth. “She’ll open up more to another woman. And I’m not terrifying.”
“Neither am I,” he said, appearing vaguely insulted. “I wear spectacles.”
“You’re not terrifying tome.” She patted his hand. “But you’ve terrified our witness, and she is not going to say anything useful to you. If she even says anything at all without requiring smelling salts.”
“She isn’tourwitness because this isn’tourcase. It’s mine.” A muscle leapt in his cheek. “Has anyone ever told you what a bloody pain in the arse you are, Miss Thorncroft?”
“You’re the first one today,” she said. Then she waited patiently.
